#can't believe he's been dead and in the ground for four years

[kyssimmee]

❤️

[comicaurora]

I watched Castlevania: Nocturne the otger day and liked it a lot less than you seemed to, so I want to hear a more detailed opinion if you have one. Am I in the wrong to think it was more shounen and less "deep" in some way?

I'd say it's definitely more shounen. Introducing the "Richter can't do magic because unresolved trauma" thing right from the jump meant a Believing In Yourself powerup was pretty much inevitable, but I liked the execution of that scene enough that I didn't mind much.

It doesn't quite have the backbone of the original Castlevania, which was grounded so strongly in Dracula's apocalyptic grief - a motivation the audience is directed to find deeply understandable from minute one - that it gave the characters a solid thematic core to play off of. This let the writing stay pretty tight by letting Trevor serve as a foiling mirror for Dracula in their mutual disgust with the failures of human kindness, Sypha for Lisa in their altruistic use of their knowledge and their vilification for "witchcraft", and Alucard in the middle torn between worlds.

Nocturne is more loose and character-driven, but it still has a core theme - the argument over "the natural order" and how that plays into a fear of change from those currently on top. However, Richter doesn't really have a horse in that race, since his motivation starts and ends at Kill Vampires while everyone around him is more complex, trying to overthrow the aristocracy and free the enslaved and such. I think this makes Richter feel a little less important than Trevor was, narratively, because he sort of stands apart from the core philosophical debate at play. It took me a few episodes to get what his deal was and start caring about his self-actualization, and I think he's definitely got further to go. Possibly Alucard's presence in season 2 will give him more to play off of.

I think Nocturne has several independently interesting villains instead of one really good villain, which is a complaint I also saw about Castlevania season 4 - I liked Death just fine, but he really didn't work for everyone, and the secondary villains like Saint Germaine were much more interesting and complex. Nocturne does, however, pull off something Castlevania didn't as much, which is most of the characters acting on their own internal consistent motivation without cleanly falling into the "good guy" or "bad guy" box, causing them to slide into and out of conflicts and alliances depending on the circumstances.

I feel like Bathory is kind of a weak core villain with almost no human-level motivations or ideas beyond General Villainy, and the extent of her development being a darkest hour shonen villain powerup/frieza transformation doesn't help much, which is why I'm kind of holding out hope that they just bite the bullet and bring back Dracula. He's the nemesis from the Castlevania games, and while they gave him and Lisa a happy ending in Castlevania season 4, I don't think they need to keep him on the bench forever. It's been 300 years, Lisa is almost certainly long dead again and Dracula doesn't need to be full Mad With Vengeance Burn Down The World to still be a credible problem in need of a little Belmonting.

I had fun with season 1 of Nocturne with the understanding that the first four-episode "season" of Castlevania wasn't representative of the final shape of the story either. Sypha's character, for instance, was very flat before she and the gang went on their season 2 bonding adventure, not much more than some banter and infodumps. I think Nocturne did solid setup of the cast and the theme they'll be unpacking, and it has lots of room to explore these characters in interesting ways once they energy-ball-tennis Bathory out of the way first.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Retaliation: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Everyone can see just how much you're suffering, Spencer more than most. When he confesses to the team about your nightmares, Derek takes matters into his own hands.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

News of another murder comes in at the house that belonged to Dan Otey so your entire team heads over there immediately. The only people left behind by the crime are Dan's wife and son who are upstairs. Dan is dead on the ground downstairs, and Schrader and his partner are long gone.

You turn to the front door and see Dale and his partner come in. You can't get much out of the partner but you know it's a man with brown hair. Dan and his wife are trying to protect his crying son but they ordered her and the son upstairs. The partner goes up there to make sure they are taken care of while Dale shoots Dan downstairs. God, will you ever be able to escape this feeling? Will you ever not take other people's pain and think it's your own?

"His wife and son were home," JJ whispers. "The partner took them upstairs while Schrader destroyed the place. Emily is with the wife right now."

You walk upstairs and stay outside the bedroom door where Dan's wife is. You don't make yourself known but you're close enough to hear their conversation.

"Dan had turned everything around. He was clean. Life was finally good, but I was always afraid to believe it, you know? Because then he could be taken away."

"I'm so sorry for your loss. Did you get a good look at the man Dale was with?"

"Uh, white, mid-forties, short hair? I don't know," she sighs.

"Have you ever seen him before?"

"Dale, yes. The other guy, no."

"We're trying to figure out how Schrader knows his partner."

"I have no idea."

"How did they talk to each other?"

"They didn't. Dale trashed the place and the other guy took us upstairs. He kept pushing me and Jason. I didn't know what was gonna happen," she sniffles.

"Did he hurt you?"

"He just scared us. He locked us in the back room and told us to shut up. Jason wouldn't stop crying."

You stare at the wall in front of you and let the tears fall down your cheeks. God, you hate crying. You wish you never had this gift. It's two AM by the time you get back to the station. Derek is in one of the empty office rooms talking on the phone so you gather with the rest of the team to talk about the case.

"Schrader gets off on power. Power, money, and revenge are what motivate him. He spent eleven years in prison and comes out as a murderer who needs a partner, somebody as bold as him. Where did they meet?"

"Schrader was away and patient. The minute he got out, he hooked up with his partner before killing Stacy on his way to kidnap his daughter. What's missing from his day?"

"The money," you say quietly. "He took his daughter but left the money. It doesn't make sense. Did he have another plan on how to support himself in Canada?"

"He's only known a life of crime. He's incapable of change. Time away proved that," Spencer says.

"Otey's wide said the partner locked them away like he didn't want them to get hurt. He was protective."

"They're both dominant personalities, but they sound like they played good cop/bad cop. It's been four hours since the accident. Do you still think I'm in shock?"

"Let's find out. Y/N, would you do the honors of giving a cognitive interview?"

"Sure," you mutter and get up.

You bring Emily to an empty office to give yourself some peace and privacy.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Fine. Let's just focus on you."

"Y/N..."

"Emily, drop it. I am not talking about this with you. Okay?" She nods and you grab her hands so you can focus on her energy and her experience. You'd rather be alone right now but you're the only one who can see clearly what happened. "Start from the beginning. Just talk about it and I'll pull what I need."

She begins the story of what happened and you use her energy and words to paint yourself a pretty picture. You close your eyes and picture yourself in the backseat of the car, next to Schrader.

Emily was in the passenger seat and Bunting was driving the car. The road was dark and lonely but that didn't stop Schrader from yapping his mouth the whole time. One small four-door black car passes by and he's looking out the window as if he is looking or waiting for someone.

Another car passes by them but this time, it's a big truck. It looks like a worker's truck with yellow lights attached to the top, only they were off. As soon as the truck passes by, Schrader takes off his seatbelt. He bends over as if he is sick and lifts himself out of the seat to pull his arms under himself so he can get his cuffed hands to the front and not the back.

Emily thinks he's actually sick but she can't see what you can see. When Schrader gets his hands in the front, he puts his seatbelt back on. Suddenly, the worker's truck from before comes crashing into the side of the car where Bunting is.

The car flips multiple times down the ditch where Derek found the car. Emily is pretty out of it but Schrader leans over and wraps his cuffed hands around Bunting's neck and starts to strangle him. Once Bunting is dead, he climbs over the seat and fishes for the keys in Emily's pockets, but she is too dazed and hurt to do anything about it.

Someone comes from the truck and Emily believes it's someone coming to help. However, he opens Schrader's door and helps him out, saving him. His partner. No matter how hard you try, you can't put a face to the partner. All you know is that he's a white man wearing jeans and boots.

They struggle for a bit and you know it's because Schrader wants to kill Emily. She knows there is a partner. She's seen both of their faces, but the partner won't allow it. He drags Schrader away before anything else can happen. That's when she gets out and crawls to the street where Derek intercepts her.

You let go of Emily's hands and take a step back from her to collect yourself. She looks tired from having to relive that but she'll be fine. You leave the room and address the team, telling them everything you saw.

"The partner took Otey's family upstairs and protected them from Schrader, just like he did with Emily," you finish.

"Do we really think a good guy hooked up with a criminal like Dale Schrader?"

"Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?"

You look back and see Derek in the empty office where he was making his phone call. You leave the group and join him inside, and he closes the door behind you.

"Am I in trouble?"

"No. I'm not going to beat around the bush here. I know you're not okay even though you say you are."

"Derek, can we do this some other time? Or never, I prefer."

"Y/N." It's the way he says your name so softly that makes you shut up and willing to hear him out. "I've noticed you're spaced out a lot, distracted, and anxious. I know what happened at the house of our last case. I see it here. You're terrified. You're living in fear." 

You can't say anything because you know it's true.

"What's your point, Derek?"

"Look, prison changes people whether you're in there for years or two and a half months." Again, you can't say anything about that. "You don't have to talk to me about this but you will talk to someone."

"What do you mean?"

Derek hands you a paper with people's names and phone numbers on it.

"Those are therapists the FBI are willing to send you to to help you out. You can choose who you go to."

"I'm fine--"

"No, you're not. You'll have weekly sessions until the therapist deems you okay."

"Derek!" He only shrugs in response. "You're really forcing me to go to therapy?"

"No, I'm not forcing you to do anything, but you'll go if you want to keep your job."

He leaves the office and you look at the paper in your hands. You scoff angrily and watch him talk to the team as if he didn't just order you to go back to a different kind of prison. This time, it's an emotional one.

By the time six AM rolls around, you're not any closer to figuring out who the partner is or where Schrader might be. You're on your fifth cup of coffee while everyone else is having their second. You might be killing yourself with the caffeine but you need it if you're going to stay awake.

"So, how did Schrader get this guy to sign on?" Derek asks.

"Good people do bad things. I'm just saying, it happens."

"Maybe, but this partner wouldn't let me die. He protected Otey's family. On the same day, he helped a convicted felon escape custody. His loyalties are all over the place," Emily sighs.

"The guy sounds desperate. Maybe he needs some money. I mean, Schrader's got a lot of it still out there. He could have promised him a cut."

"I don't know," Emily disagrees. "He's an accomplice to three murders and a kidnapping. Is there enough money out there for you to sign on to something like that? I think it's something bigger than the money. Maybe Schrader's threatening him. Whatever it is, it'd have to be big."

What's the point of discussing with the team anymore? What's the point of anything? You're too tired to think so you're too tired to actively engage with anyone on the team. You'll do what you can to help but you'll need to be told what to do instead of taking initiative which you used to have.

"We caught Schrader because he kidnapped his daughter. He was emotional and his guard was down. Clearly, family means more to him than we thought. Schrader's ex-wife forced him to give up custody of Jenny. Maybe he wants this guy to know what it feels like to lose his family, too."

"It sounds like revenge to me."

"Maybe it is."

"Do we have anything on Schrader's case? Any potential victims?" JJ asks when she walks into the station after getting some sleep.

"The usual--judges and lawyers."

"They're all accounted for this morning," Derek says.

"If it's revenge, then it's gotta be someone who put him away. If it's not the officers who put him away or the judge who sentenced him, then who is it?"

Hotch gets Penelope on the phone.

"Garcia, I need the names of every law enforcement agent Involved in the Schrader case."

"You know everybody."

"Yeah, but I want every single employee the year that he was arrested."

"Give me a minute."

"A whole minute? Come on, baby girl, are you losing your touch?" Derek grins.

"Oh, watch your pretty mouth. Personnel records come at you now."

Maybe Schrader is using someone on the police force as his partner, someone he is threatening.

"Who is still active?"

"Most."

"Would he risk using an active officer?"

"Depends on how much he hates them. Has anyone retired?"

"Two of them. Mat Massey and Jeff Messick. Both are married with kids, white, and in their fifties," Spencer reads from the file Pen sent over.

Why are you even here? There is nothing stopping you from getting up, walking out of this building, and never returning. Wait, there is one. Spencer. He's been so kind and good to you. You could never leave him no matter what you're going through.

"Can I see those pictures?" Emily asks. She shakes her head when she doesn't recognize either of them. "They aren't the partner. Why wouldn't he go after one of the officers who arrested him? It makes the most sense for revenge."

"Wait a minute, guys, listen to this," Derek says. "There was a witness who never testified on Schrader's behalf. He might have seen that as a betrayal. When he gets out of prison, he can use him to get what he wants. Garcia, I want you to run a history on a witness from the Schrader case, Joey Short."

"Alright, Joey was born in 1966 in New York City. He didn't hold a lot of jobs except for in construction. He was in and out of rehab."

"Where is he now?"

"His last known address was ten years ago."

"Did he do time?"

"No."

"Come on, Garcia. People don't just disappear. This guy's got a history with a lot of holes in it. He went to rehab. You know, maybe this guy had to walk the walk."

"He was undercover," Hotch says.

"That makes sense. Those guys are up for anything, and they take big risks professionally and personally. It explains his behavior, too. Good guy doing bad things."

"Garcia, what's his real name?"

"It's not here," she says after a few seconds.

"If Schrader can find it, so can we. The guy needed to be Schrader's friend so they're probably around the same age. Look for academy graduates in the early nineties. Did any of them not go into police work?"

"Baby, I don't follow you," Penelope frowns.

"If he went undercover, then anything tied to the academy would have to be severed. I mean, the guy graduated but had to immediately start working his history as Joey Short. He went into construction, made his contacts in the bank robbery world, and then he met Schrader. He earned Schrader's trust, turned him in, and got out of the game."

Penelope works quickly through the list of men that fit the description Derek gave.

"Okay, here are a couple of guys that look like they dropped out."

"Are there pictures?" Emily asks.

"Sending them to you now."

x

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[fanfic-obsessed]

Responding to the Talk Shop Tuesdays post!

Leverage x Star Wars. Thoughts?

(I've had vague wonderings of leverage-style clone wars shenanigans but can't really get past "someone talks them into wrecking Palpatine's shit and they do" so I'm just throwing this into the air).

Alternatively, if you also have no thoughts there, favorite way you've written Palpatine accidentally shooting himself in the foot?

Oooh, Leverage and Start wars. I had not had that thought before…now I do. It’s legally required. 

I know you said during the clone wars but post Order 66 immediately came to mind. Let's start with our cast.

Mastermind: Cody (initially this was going to be Obi Wan with Cody being the hitter, but bear with me I think this will be even better). Cody deserts the empire, a broken man, lost everything. He thinks everyone he ever loved is dead.  A few years after his desertion, he gets his chip removed through a series of unfortunate events (though he never actually finds out what it is or what it does). He is drifting through life, doing just enough work to get the money to keep drinking. An honest man. And a smart one. 

Grifter: Obi Wan. After the Order goes out. After Anakin. After the birth of the twins, Obi Wan does spend a year or two on Tatooine. But Owen Lars makes a very specific good point, even a single slip up (and there are always slip ups), will bring the Empires attention to Tatooine (They believe Anakin is dead, so it is the Emperor’s attention that Obi Wan fears) and with that to Luke. It is better if Obi Wan is anywhere else. Owen is gracious in victory and agrees to updates up to four times a year.  So Obi Wan, Ben, loses himself. A new name every night, a new planet, a new voice.  The galaxy is a large place and Ben knows how to slip through and around the cracks.  Though no one has made the connection yet, a number Ben’s alias’s are wanted by the Empire, the Hutts, and the remaining Mandalorians (current total bounty’s, in credits, for all of his other aliases almost reaches the Empire’s bounty for Obi Wan Kenobi).

Hitter:  Boba Fett. Bounty Hunter. The only clone who wasn’t (who was a son). Often underestimated because of his youth. Alone by both circumstances and choice (even with Pond's death, Boba would be welcomed by most clones had he been willing to see them as sentient).  He is a teen when our team comes together and is still one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy. At first he barely considers any of these people sentient and is not sure why he is sticking around, but this is also the safest he has felt since his father had died. 

Hacker: Echo. After Tech’s death Echo found that he could not stay with the Bad Batch.  The ghosts of everybody he had lost draped around him, weighing him down, leaving Echo feeling he could not go back to the Rebels or Rex either.  He skimmed enough credits from various Empire accounts that he was able to buy himself a ship, which he then modified. He decided he would find, no matter the firewalls, every scrap of video or information regarding his lost brothers (all of them). That they would not be forgotten. When he found information that was pertinent to the Rebels, or the Bad Batch  he would send it along, but he now worked alone.

Thief: Reva. After the purge Reva hid for hours under the bodies of her friends. Before it was dark enough that her movement would not immediately give her away. Then weeks creeping through the lower levels of the temple before she could find a way to escape (All the while the giggles of her friend echoed in her head- This part of the temple had always been off limits and they had all talked about being big and strong and facing what was waiting in the dark-Reva did not feel big and strong now, but there was nothing more in the dark she feared). She taught herself to step soundlessly, barely touching the ground. She taught herself how to make herself small, or just big enough (just enough to wedge herself into a small, high, space).  It is amazing what one can learn if survival is on the line. Those hours coveted in the blood of her friends, the Force echoing with the horror her family was experiencing, then the weeks in the dark tunnels changed Reva irrevocably. Before she can be found by the Empire, she is found by a Master thief who sees in her his chance to pass on his legacy (Reva is just the right kind of broken).

Now that we have our cast, let’s look at how they come together. 

I love the Leverage Pilot, so let’s use that as a Framework.

Cody is drinking on Ord Mantell, approximately 14 BBY or 985 AAR,  when he is approached a Falleen Noble, who wants to hire him to run a job (though I do not know what the Falleen noble would say, I do imagine Cody saying Nate’s line “You know that part of the conversation where I punch you in the neck nine or ten times? We’re coming up on that pretty quick”). The Noble has hired Boba, Echo, and Reva as the rest of the crew.  The job is to steal back some plans (let's be honest this job does not matter much).  

The Job goes well, but when Echo mentions how well it went, he gets the brush off. Due to the fact that Cody still does not know about the chips, every other member of the crew has issues with clones. We speed run through the Falleen noble gathering them together for one last betrayal and an explosion. 

They wake up in a med ward. All of their DNA is being run. This is bad news. Standard panel would show that Reva is Force Sensitive (though no one else in the room knows that). It would also mark the other three as clones (Even Boba). Though the Empire does not particularly care about employing Clones, they would still pay handsomely for escaped clones.

This is where we veer slightly.  

Reva’s panic in the Force draws the attention of Obi Wan, calling himself Ben right now.  Enough time has passed (and enough has happened that all of their Force signatures had changed) that Ben only just recognizes Echo, and no one else.   For a single moment Ben hesitates, they are not his business (Ben also does not know why he was shot at) and are possibly his enemies.  But there was Echo, familiar if only just, and with him someone who was Force sensitive. A young force sensitive (in Ben’s mind anyone who is the right age that they could have been in the council room that day was someone to protect, because he failed those initiates). 

Ben is very good at grifting, so is easily able to get the four out of there (They also do not recognize him) and get them to a safe house.  There are several moments of uncomfortable silence before Ben greets Echo with a teasing, “Hello There Echo” in his real accent and voice. 

Cody is the one who frowns and peers at Ben (clean shaven), because it couldn’t be…

Echo asks who Ben is, Ben smiles sadly and says “I suppose it has been many years since Skako”

This told Echo next to nothing (he’s been back to Skako Minor a couple of times since the war) but Cody just straight up sits on the floor in shock (Trying to say general and Obi Wan and you’re alive all at once-it is a little unintelligible). When Ben looks directly at Cody for the first time (Ben can’t quite let himself focus on any of the clones, for fear of what he would see)  he realizes exactly who it is.

Ben, by sheer happenstance, manages to sit in a chair. This is followed by Echo needing to explain about the chips and order 66 (“There was what in my head!?!”/”You all had what in your heads?!?”).

I picture them absentmindedly destroying Falleen Noble, in a similar way to the show. They do it because he tried to kill them/did not pay them (Ben took that personally for all of them- Cody: He tried to kill us, that is a bit more important than not paying up Ben<waving a hand>:Trying to kill you is nothing, but not paying you is just rude.) 

I picture that they decide they might as well stay together, and grow into a found family (with Codywan being the exhausted parents) traveling around to help people ala leverage. They cannot and do not start going after the empire immediately. None of them want to draw the attention of the Empire, but if some of their jobs do include liberating people and occasionally planets, well they just have to be careful to not bite off more than they can chew and not to leave any tracks. They also do stop at Tatooine every so often (It turns out Owen likes Ben an awful lot more when he is not camped out in their backyard) so Luke knows them.  

I imagine that when Leia is kidnapped, a few years later, Bail is still able to reach Ben. The Leverage crew immediately go to save her. It is during this that it becomes known that Reva had been in the Temple, had been in the council room. This is very swiftly followed by the realization that Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader (which none of the crew had known).

This…This is what circles them back around to take on the Empire (a cross between Leverage Season 3 and Leverage Season 4). They still work to help people, but it becomes more pointed. Throughout their new self appointed mission, Ben starts to train Reva, to help her overcome the trauma of the Purge.  

As they are now acting more deliberately against the Empire they begin to come across more familiar faces. Rebels (including Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor). Bail reintroduces them to Fulcrum (Ahsoka has mixed feelings about Obi Wan in particular. He challenges the way she remembers Anakin with rosy glasses). 

It certainly ends with Palpatine staring in abject shock as his empire burns around him.  Vader is being escorted to get correctly fitting prosthetics, from which he will go to prison. Bail ends up taking the Emperor position to start working on turning the Empire back to a Republic. 

Our team keeps going on finding people who need…Leverage

My favorite way that Palpatine shot himself in the foot is in Read the Fine Print  where Palptines first domino was his last, because he did not pay attention to a sub clause in the treaty. 

That was fun. Thank you @somestorythoughts

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Apparently when Aang was depressed and suggested that maybe they should abandon hope, he was actually ordering/Forcing The pregnant Couple to accept air nomad beliefs.

Also Aang apparently Regularly disrespects and refuses to learn from other cultures and Aang actually isn’t even a good airbender because somehow even though he regularly airbends, we don’t see him practicing at all.

Finally even though Aang allowed Katara to take Appa and acknowledged that she believes that she needs to go on the journey to Yon rha, Aang was forcing Katara to murder Yon Rha.

What show were Aang’s detractors watching?

I love the implication that somethings as simple as "having hope" is considered "Air-nomad exclusive belief", when that's a big theme throught the whole show and we have IROH telling Zuko not to give into despair, and explaining to the crew on "The Storm" that Zuko is so obsessed with capturing the Avatar because that mission allows him to hope he can come home and fix things with his dad.

They REALLY think that "pacifist" (which IS an air-nomad thing) MUST mean "hopeful, optimistic and cheery" like Aang - like we didn't see the air-nomads clearly freaking out so bad that they tell Aang he is the Avatar four years ahead of time, getting pissed whenever he is having any fun, and even want to separate him from his "father" because they knew something bad was gonna happen. Aka, they gave into despair.

As for him "forcing" the couple to give that name to their child

Husband: What should we name her?

Wife: I want our daughter's name to be unique. I want it to mean something.

Aang:  I've been going through a really hard time lately. But you've made me ... hopeful again.

Wife: I know what I want to name our baby now. Hope.

Husband: That's a perfect name. Hope.

That was a suggestion at most. Not an order, not intimidating them into doing what he wanted them to, and surely not forcing them to accept "air-nomad beliefs."

"The guy who spent the whole series traveling around to learn from different people, and was so understanding he was even sympathetic to the nation that killed everyone he knew and loved, did not respect other cultures" Bruh.

Literally the only two "disrespectful" things I remember Aang doing were:

1 - That bitter comment about "dead animals" towards Bato - which he only made because he was feeling left out of the conversation since his friends were so excited about being with someone from their tribe that they were completely ignoring him. Not cool, but totally understanding considering he's 12.

2 - Snapping at Pakku for not wanting to train Katara/trying to teach her what he was taught behind his back (even though the second one is on shaky ground since, even though that was a bit of a "cheat code" to make Pakku train Katara indirectly, he doesn't have the right to demand Aang never share his knowledge with someone he doesn't approve of)

And both of these, on top of being understandable, also have the disclaimer of "You can disagree with someone's beliefs/cultural habits without looking down on them" - hell, Katara full on says Gran-Gran left because she wouldn't let the Northern Water Tribes stupid customs ruin her life. Not to mention, the Fire Nation's culture for at least 100 years has been "fuck everyone else, only our way of living is the correct one" and the whole point of the show is "This belief is not only wrong and hurting the other nation, it is harming the Fire Nation itself"

"It's my culture" is a neutral statement. It does not shield said culture from criticism, and Aang disagreeing with someone's beliefs - be it that hunting/eating meat is okay, or that women can't be fighters, or that not all life is sacred - is not the same as him being disrespectful. He owes people basic human decency, not blind agreement with anything and everything they believe in.

So yeah, these people need to keep. Aang's. Name. OUT. THEIR. FUCKING. MOUTH.

[carefulfears]

my thoughts on the field where i died, as promised!

first of all, i just have to say, this episode is so visually stunning. glen morgan/james wong + rob bowman behind the camera is a dream team, and i’m inclined to be a bit more open to the content than i probably would be if it came from the perspective of another writer.

the criticism that i hear the most regarding this episode is that it implies that mulder and scully aren’t soulmates, but i've never interpreted it that way

the field where i died opens on an FBI raid of a cult in tennessee headed by vernon ephesian, where mulder intuitively leads the team to a bunker housing ephesian and his six wives, including melissa riedal-ephesian.

throughout the investigation, FBI focus turns to uncovering the location of the cult's weapons, in a search to find enough evidence to charge ephesian. otherwise, he will be released in 24 hours.

throughout the 24 hour holding period, multiple interrogations of melissa reveal not only the depth of the connection that mulder feels to her, but that she seems to exhibit multiple personalities, each with differing information about ephesian's crimes.

in what is possibly my favorite frame of the series, mulder suggests that these alternate personalities might actually be melissa recalling her past lives, and suggests that she try regression hypnosis, with the goal of revealing where the bunker holding the weapons is

this is where this episode starts to lose people, as both mulder and melissa undergo regression hypnosis, and both claim to recognize each other as their spouse in each previous life

however, as the wikipedia summary points out, the recollected histories all end with the two being separated.

melissa describes watching mulder's death during the civil war, while mulder describes witnessing her being taken away (by CSM?? i'll admit this is a weird one, folks) during WWII, with mulder having the line "we're always taken away."

also a frequent flyer in the past life regression session, is scully, who appears in each of mulder's previous lives, an occurrence he describes as souls coming back "different, but always together, again and again, to learn"

personally, i don't think that mulder and melissa being married in each life, or even the emotional connection that they have to each other, is implying that they're soulmates or supposed to be together.

i think that the repeated theme of mulder and melissa being separated and mulder and scully "coming together" in each life is the more meaningful note from morgan and wong. and more than that, i don't think that any of this matters at all.

if you recall, the goal of the regression hypnosis in the first place was to find the bunker. to locate the weapons, to charge ephesian, and to hold the cult members in custody.

ultimately, the regression doesn't assist in the investigation at all, and a planned FBI search of the grounds finds every member of the group dead in a mass suicide, including melissa.

the stand-out of this episode, however, comes before the revelation of the ending.

"dana, if early in the four years we've been working together, an event occurred that suggested or somebody told you that...we'd been friends together. in other lifetimes. always. wouldn't it have changed some of the ways we looked at one another?"

following mulder's regression, the episode pauses. and mulder asks scully (calling her by her first name, i believe for the first time since season one) if having known they were fated to come back together, to always be friends, would have changed things between them.

this is a conversation that is ongoing throughout the series, the question of fate vs. free will, and as the incredible @scullysflannel has written about before, mulder loves free will.

while fated past lives might be the MOTW, might be the supernatural phenomenon that we're focusing on, that doesn't mean that the episode, or mulder, comes out on the side of fate.

fate can't find the bunker. fate doesn't save anyone's life.

frequently, when this debate is brought up, as is scully's involvement in the x-files.

scully was assigned to the x-files, she was positioned there by CSM purposefully, and they both know that. but she has chosen to commit herself to the cause, and specifically to mulder. she sought him out when they were shut down, she describes herself as having "followed" him, and she continuously fights to stay involved in his journey.

this is something that mulder rebels against from time to time, feeling responsible for the things that have happened to her since she became involved in his quest

and feeling that there's more for her than what a life with him offers.

in fight the future, he tells her to leave and go be a doctor. in requiem, he laments "everything that's been taken" from her, including her health and chance at being a mother.

over 15 years later, in nothing lasts forever, he admits to the scenario he envisions, a world where she "left that basement office" and married some brain surgeon, became everyone's boss at the FBI, her family and health and babies intact.

regardless of the underlying level of guilt and responsibility that he always feels when it comes to the losses that scully has suffered

he needs this life to have been her choice, for her autonomy in that decision to have been intact, for a life with him to not have been her irrevocable, and somewhat tragic, fate

and so in the field where i died, shortly after exploring the connections of his past, he looks up at her and asks...if this were all because we're supposed to know each other, would it have been different?

and she tells him, no.

the way that in fight the future she tells him that she'll be a doctor, but her work is with him. the way that in requiem she told him that she won't let him go alone. the way that in nothing lasts forever she told him that she doesn't begrudge him anything, that her "leap of faith forward" is the future she wants with him.

maybe they have been friends in every life that they have ever lived. maybe they are fated to always come back together, to always learn from each other.

but fate doesn't save the day, fate doesn't show you what you need to find.

they choose each other, and more than anything else in this episode, that's what he needed to hear.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Your heart is pounding and it can't be stopped

The red queen is dead! Unfortunately, her Overblot is an even more fearsome foe.

(Twst au where Overblots are apocalyptic events)

Riddle Rosehearts was dead.

Yuko had not seen the body, but she knew this to be true.

Would there even be a body? What had Crowley once told them about Overblots? They would drain the Host of power, like a soda can that would inevitably be discarded. Does that mean that the body would be tossed aside, that maybe one day they could go back and bury the poor boy? Would it simply disappear the moment there was no more mana, nothing left of the boy except for a rampaging monster? Or would the body stay there, attached to the front of it, until it decayed naturally?

Did it even matter, anymore?

A high scream met their ears.

They didn’t stop to let themselves wonder whether they recognized the voice.

Her breathing came in short, aborted gasps. Deuce’s hand, wrapped around her own, was gripping her so tightly that it was starting to hurt. Blot hung heavy in the air, thick blobs of inky blackness threatening to choke them. Her feet stumbled over cobbled streets. Ace’s collar glinted in the red-tinted sun as he struggled to tug it over his head with a newfound fervor. The trees creaked and groaned as they were ripped out of the ground one by one by the queen on a hunt. Flames spilled from Grim’s mouth as he followed at their heels, painting the world behind them in flames in hopes of slowing it. People cried out as they were found. First in surprise, then terror, then anguish and then pain and then –.

Their little group of four stumbled through the mirror.

It was as if they had stepped into another world.

The ripping, tearing sounds they had been listening to for the better part of an hour came to a halt all at once. No one was running, no one was screaming. Their peers sent their group strange looks, all hopelessly unaware of the monster that was now in their midst.

For just a moment, their group of four lingered there, a heap of teens, breathing heavy in a way that was either just regular overexertion or the beginnings of a panic attack. So shaken by the sudden change they almost forgot what was going on in the sheer strangeness of it all.

“You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a Savanaclaw second-year student commented, teasing.

“No,” Ace said, his laugh bordering on manic as it spilled from his lips. “Those are in Ramshackle, not Heartslabyul, idiot!”

Yuko wanted to join him. Laughing seemed like much more fun than whatever it was she was doing, planning and trying to figure out a way to defeat a monster that was so much more powerful than she could even dream to be.

Then she glanced back, at the mirror.

Cater held his hands up, yelling something that was inaudible to those not in the Heartslabyul pocket dimension, winking at something they couldn’t see.

A tree speared him through the chest. He choked on his usual smile. He coughed, blood speckling the untainted trunk in front of him.

The clone dissolved into nothing.

A distraction, perhaps, so people could run to find safer places to hide for the moment.

She had the sinking feeling that the plan was actually to lead the Overblot to the mirror. That he wanted to use the rest of the school as bait, just so he could live.

She turned to the innocent bystanders.

“Rosehearts-senpai has Overblotted,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm despite the way her heart thudded in her chest in time to the deceptively cheery kids song that was Painting the roses red.“He is coming. Believe me. Or don't, I couldn't care less. But we all need to run.”

It wasn’t hard to believe her.

The Overblot approached the place where the clone had fallen, the ink sloshing over the top of its jar with every lumbering step, painting the cobbled stone path black. It knelt to scoop up the tree, gently cradling it in its fingers for a moment. Blood rubbed off on its white gloves.

Dully, Yuko thought that, at least, Riddle’s ghost could at least be glad that those damn roses were finally red.

It turned to look at them them. Without a Riddle hanging on the front, screaming and crying, it was strangely eerie, to look at a faceless being, and yet know that its eyes are locked solely on you.

With intent.

It hefted the tree in its hand, preparing to throw it.

They didn’t wait to see whether or not the tree would be able to make it through the mirror.

Shoes skidded on tile as they took off running again.

People scrambled in every direction. Towards the safety of their own dorms. Trying to find a way out. A place to hide. Anything that might save them. The more they spread out, the more of them that would survive. They knew this all intrinsically.

They also knew that those who got caught would die alone.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ace said, leading their group through the halls with ease. Despite how little time they had spent at the school so far, he knew the layout like the back of his hand. “We need to get out of here.”

“Come up with that plan on your own?” Deuce snarked.

“I’m fucking sorry do you have a better one?”

Yuko groaned. “Not the time, guys.”

They grumbled and fell silent, instead focusing on getting out the doors.

Crowds of people, heading about their days like normal, seemed confused by the group of teens that were set on getting out of the building without paying any mind to the people they might end up trampling along the way. Maybe they thought they were running from Riddle’s punishments. They wouldn’t be entirely wrong, if that was what they were guessing, but they didn’t know the full extent of things.

She should tell them the full extent.

Ace met her eyes and, briefly, in a motion so small it was almost lost in the steady bounce of pounding footsteps, shook his head.

Her voice died in her throat.

They both knew that the more people the Overblot encountered, the more it would be distracted from chasing them. That the more people they warned, the harder it would be to push through crowds, to stick together, to get away and be sure that everyone else had escaped, too.

They stepped out onto the grounds without uttering a word of warning.

Mud squished beneath their feet as they ran. It had rained earlier that morning, but now the sky was sunny. Deceptively, it was a nice day out. It felt wrong.

It was hot. The sun beat down on them relentlessly.

They were out in the open.

Others rushed into the woods, hoping to find comfort and safety with the trees as cover, but they had forgotten the dangerous wildlife and poisonous and venomous plants that would prove to be just as fatal as the Overblot. No, they had to leave, that was the only chance they had of making it out of this alive.

It would just require them running across an open field in broad daylight. It wasn’t a short sprint, either.

In the back of their minds, they knew that their school was on an island, so they probably wouldn’t be able to get away in the long run even if they did, by some stroke of luck, make it off campus. But they didn’t care. They just wanted more time.

Time they didn’t seem to have.

“AaaaAaaaCe TrrrRaaaappolA!” the creature roared from somewhere within the castle. Blot spilled from a tower window, which was helpful for trying to figure out where it had gone, but unsettling in that it was heading up the Astronomy tower, a place with an open roof and a view of the entire campus grounds. It was getting the high ground, trying to spot them. Even when lost to the blot, nothing that was formed from Riddle Rosehearts could be entirely stupid.

They were going to be found.

Ace turned a few shades more pale.

“What do you guys think are the chances we all misheard that?” he tried.

“Nonexistent,” said Grim.

Ace gave another laugh. It was bitter, unsettling, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was at this very moment that she remembered that the Queen of Roses was said to be a tyrant, yes, but that her subjects were also said to be mad.

She grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop, and he looked at her with wide, imploring eyes.

Their friends slowed as well, though they looked no happier.

“We can’t, we can’t stop,” Grim said. As a fire monster, he couldn’t cry, but it sounded like he was getting as close to it as was possible for him.

She ignored him. She knelt and grabbed two handfuls of mud, and then dumped them over Ace’s head.

He shrieked, indignant and disgusted as brown ran down the back of his neck, seeping under his collar. “Wh – what are you –?”

“Hair’s recognizable. Need to cover it.”

His eyes widened and he practically dove into the ground, rolling in the mud. Dirtying his hair and collar. If there was one thing she could respect about the boy, it was that he was surprisingly quick on the uptake, when he wanted to be.

Next, she shoved brown into Deuce’s hands.

“Do you even know what mud is –?” he started to ask.

“No, and I couldn’t care less.”

He grimaced, but started combing his fingers through his hair to dye it.

She briefly pressed her hands to the back of her own neck, allowing the excess, cool mud to bring her down before she could overheat.

That dealt with, she knelt beside Grim, who was shaking like a leaf despite the heat and exhaustion. Carefully, she ran her fingers through his fur. He complained about the mud, but ultimately leaned into her touch regardless.

She pressed a kiss to the top of her familiar’s head.

He leapt into her arms, and she shouldn’t have had enough strength to carry him, and yet she did. The monster looped his arms around her neck, hugging her close, and he half-sobbed into her shoulder.

“We’ll make it out of this,” she promised. “And we’ll tell everyone that you, the Great Lord Grim defeated the nasty Overblot, and you’ll be the greatest mage in the world at age, like, one and a half.”

Grim, for once, didn’t take the opportunity to spout off about his greatness.

He trembled in her arms.

She thought he was falling apart at the seams.

She thought she felt the same.

But she didn’t have time for any of that. She was the smart one, the one who had figured out what to do at the mines, and she would figure out what to do here, too. Her parents had named her Yuko – helpful child – and she was going to help her friends get out of this damned school. And then she was going to figure out how to make a portal back to her own world, and drag these three idiots along with her so they wouldn’t have to experience anything as dangerous as this ever again.

It was what they deserved.

(It was a pipe dream and she knew it.)

Only once they got what they deserved would she allow herself to finally break down.

For now, she had problems to solve.

Eventually, finally, the pair of mages she called her friends were entirely average-looking, unrecognizable.

Just in time, too, because the Overblot finally reached the top of the Astronomy tower. It stood upon the precipice, leaning over, spilling black down the sides.

Yuko covered Grim with her school uniform jacket, hiding his flaming ears and electric blue eyes from view.

The Overblot peered over the grounds. For a moment, its gaze landed on them.

It continued on.

It didn’t find what it was looking for.

It screamed, frustrated, and leapt directly from the tower. The ground, already unsteady and muddy beneath their feet, shook.

It paid their shouts of surprise (and horror as it sunk in just how large the thing was) no mind. Instead, it turned and ran into the forest, bowling over trees as it went.

For just a moment, none of them even dared to breathe.

They looked at each other, wondering if they had all imagined it. Whether the stress had broken their minds already.

Surely, they couldn’t actually be escaping.

Deuce grinned widely, too widely, it didn’t fit his face at all.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her to her feet, pulling her back into a run. Grim curled tighter in her arms, trying to make himself more aerodynamic since they were not risking stopping even if just for a few seconds so she could put him down. Ace followed after them, hot on their heels.

The gates came into view.

A breathless laugh escaped her. She almost couldn’t believe it.

She shouldn’t have.

They couldn’t even get within three meters of the gates.

A forcefield no one had ever noticed before – no one had ever been this desperate to leave before – glimmered purple as they bounced off of it, the four of them tumbling back into the grass.

It was deathly silent.

They were… stuck.

In here.

With the monster that was actively calling for one of their heads.

They rushed forward, fists pounding against the forcefield, desperate wails spilling from their throats, begging that somehow someone would pass by and hear and be able to help.

No one came.

Yuko sunk to her knees.

“We’re doomed,” she breathed.

“No. Nonono! Yuko, don’t say that! You have to have a plan!” Deuce almost begged. “You always have a plan.”

She stared at the wrought iron in front of her. At the trees they could see through the bars, at the safety that was so close and yet so far.

“I – I don’t know.”

[gaoau]

how shall i get across when i've carved out my wings to soften your fall?

theory of the two demons warnings — mentions of animal death. nothing too explicit, just kinda gruesome word count — 3.3k

prev. — next.

Dazai has taught [Name] not to rely on their ability alone. Dazai has taught [Name] how to employ their martial arts to the best of their ability. when they come face to face with a rebuilt research facility in Nagoya, they think everything their mentor has taught them will never be more useful than right now.

they've stayed quiet all this time, all these years. always measuring their words and their anger, letting it speak oh-so-bitterly for itself with its own loudness. it's become deafening. they've become restless. they've been keeping their own sound to themself for more years than they've been conscious. when they crane their neck to look at the seven members of their trusty unit, they don't say anything. namiyo stares into their eyes with a solemn gaze, awaiting orders to break into the building and shoot everyone dead in the blink of an eye.

but those are not their orders and this is not their battle.

"i'll be going now," they announce. promptly, they turn towards hell on earth. perhaps the gates to hell. perhaps just another building teeming with scientists. as they march into the facility, they wave their hand, saying, "stand by," and soon they disappear.

infiltrating by themself is a walk in the park; it's almost unsettling how similar the layout is to its predecessor. the hallways are awfully well-lit and the cameras are all pointed at them. however clean the white walls might be, it won't matter once they're done. they remember the trail of corpses they left in their wake four years ago. all things end where they begin—they'll make sure of it tonight.

there's children younger than them—ability users—locked up in sickeningly bright rooms. being on the other side of the one-way mirror makes [Name]'s heart sink to their stomach. they'll do their best to keep these ones alive this time. they'll come back for them after it's all done.

alarms blare to alert about an intruder on grounds. security doesn't hesitate to intercept [Name], believing they can neutralize a child and call it a day. but [Name] has been training under Dazai Osamu and the King of Assassins for the past two years. they don't utter revenge, they don't blink for a second, they don't use Mirror Mirage at all. with the hands of a chained kid, they dig and claw and kill. they leave murder to bloom on their palms and stain the floors.

J. L. Borges is a name they'll never forget; not all they went through under her orders, nor all they missed because of her greed, nor how she slipped right through their fingers. she will not get the chance to run away this time.

it's quick. it's quicker than they'd pictured revenge would be.

[Name] has stayed quiet all this time, waiting for all their hard work to bear fruit. when they bust open the door to the main laboratory, they hear Borges holler at the top of her lungs, cowering in a corner and begging for mercy. "been a while, miss," they greet with politeness they never needed. they would have survived whether they washed their mouth out with soap or not.

[Surname] [Name] is a name she'll never forget; not the valuable specimen they were, nor the damage they caused to her facility, nor the impending fear of knowing she barely escaped by the skin of her teeth when they broke out of their cell four years ago. Borges thinks she won't be as lucky tonight.

screams, scratches, blood, struggling, kicking, barking. it all happens in a blur. [Name] can't process a single sound or feel the pain on their cheeks or even see her face as they disfigure it with their bare hands. they wonder if this is what Dazai feels like every time he beats them bloody. by the time they're done throwing their tantrum, Borges is nothing more than a twitching mess of mangled meat and bones. she's still breathing, [Name] can tell, she's still alive. but there's no one left in the building to come to her aid. there's no one to burst in and sew her wounds shut. there's no one to keep her alive a day longer because she's a valuable specimen. there's no one.

it's empty.

their head is empty. their chest is empty. their hands are empty. they have no words now. they have nothing beyond the mess they made.

is this what Dazai feels like?

[Name] scans the room, once sterile and pristine. there are papers scattered and soaking in blood, broken pieces of glass, torn books, equipment. there's a book. there's a book, red and black cover, a title in bold, white letters; something about the war, something about crime. it's opened to a bookmarked page. the theory of the two demons. right next to it, there's a keychain with more keys than it can hold. [Name] takes both and exits the laboratory.

their footsteps echo through the empty hallways. they can still hear Borges choking on her blood as she slowly dies. it's not gratifying, [Name] realizes, there's nothing fulfilling about those sounds piercing their ears.

they tap their finger against the headset in their ear. namiyo's voice comes in, "yes, [Name]-san?"

"i'm done here. come get the kids out."

"of course."

when they go to turn the mic off again, they find blood on their ear. they try to wipe it off. it's on their hands as they smudge it into their hair. it's not empty, after all. although it's all void, their cheeks hurt with a smile they can't hold back.

with a bow, [Name] finishes their report about the facility's infiltration and its success. Mori grins at them from behind his fingers, elbows on his desk. "great work out there, [Name]-kun, the new additions to the mafia will come in handy." he doesn't miss the loud, looming cloud of anger clinging to their shoulders.

"there's nothing to thank me for, boss." for children that cannot be saved, the Port Mafia is only the lesser of two evils. [Name] knows. this is not heaven. this is nothing to be grateful for.

it's an interesting theory. it's not right, but [Name] finds this book to be interestingly absurd. they have read these same paragraphs over and over and over again since they stole the book from Borges two weeks ago. killing time while they wait for Dazai to show up, they take a seat and flip towards the bookmarked page.

the theory of the two demons states that, in order to take down a great evil, one requires a greater evil; something that won't cancel out the wickedness, but simply overpower it. they might as well take this as they will. not with their own interpretation, but with their own experience. it feels out of reach and incomplete despite how brand new it is. it's interesting. it doesn't make sense. it's horrendous, it's nonsensical, it's wrong.

it's true.

all those children they rescued from the research facility, themself included, were test subjects because of their dangerous abilities. then Borges was killed because she abused these children for decades. putting it into perspective, between the danger and the abuse, unknown abilities lost to the abuse; the abuse of research is justified since it's all for the sake of keeping these weapons in check. but then, between the abuse and the murder, the abuse lost to the murder; stripping someone else of their life is justified because it set people free.

is this how [Name] is supposed to think?

"what are you reading there?" comes a weightless voice from above them. [Name] doesn't need to look up to know it's Dazai. he asks not because he's curious, but because he has nothing better to do.

[Name] stares at the printed words for a few seconds longer, letting a hideous theory seep into their skin and settle on the marrow of their bones. for a moment, they believe it's not a theory, but a rule written and passed down by ancestors through generations. then they turn towards Dazai to make sure he's actually asking such a stupid question. of course he is. they look him in the eye briefly before turning back to the book in their hand. "it's a theory about times of war." the pages flutter and then snap shut with a dull thud.

Dazai hums in thought. [Name] can't tell if he's genuinely interested now or simply killing time—sometimes it's both, sometimes it's neither. after a bout of silence, he pipes up again, "what does it say?"

"it's called the theory of the two demons," [Name] starts, the sentence burning like acid on their tongue and settling with bitterness on the back of their throat. they might never completely grasp what this theory entails, but they explain it in detail to their mentor. "it states that to combat a great evil, you need an even greater evil." it's rough and it's nearly nonsensical. they don't know how to agree or if they're allowed to disagree.

maybe someone like Dazai can understand what it means.

(that's absurd, [Name] thinks.)

maybe someone like Dazai can agree.

(there's no one like Dazai anywhere in the world.)

maybe someone like Dazai wrote it.

(there should never be.)

when Dazai remains quiet, pondering, [Name] continues, parroting the examples they don't want to give credit to, "say, for uprisings against the government, the government can infringe human rights for the sake of peace. persecution, forced disappearances, execution, among other examples." when never uttered out loud, thoughts are not real. when never read out loud, printed words on a book are alien. when [Name] hears their own voice reciting it all so cleanly, they start to believe it. "one is worse than the other, but both are bad, however, it's all for the greater good." they start to think it.

"that's interesting," Dazai says, uninterested. "how come the worst one wins?" Dazai asks, interested.

[Name] leaves the book on the dirt. they won't need it anymore. "however bad the method is, it produces good results. not everyone can be a greater demon, though." with their neck craned upwards, they stare into Dazai's uncovered eye. he's the worst demon of them all. dusting their clothes off, [Name] rises from the ground, shifting away from their mentor. "i read a book once with a similar concept, but it talked about ordinary and extraordinary people."

"really?" there's a childlike ring in Dazai's voice, like a young boy finding out he's going to a theme park. "what are we?"

the question sinks into [Name]'s ears like a sharp needle. "neither," they don't hesitate to answer. the mafia can never be either. "ordinary people are your every day citizens. extraordinary are those like historical leaders who brought good with crime; heroes who didn't care about the bloodshed of ordinary people as long as it helped their good cause."

"two demons against each other, but one is more evil…"

"every crime comes with its punishment. sometimes the punishment is just a bigger crime."

Dazai's lips curl into an unreadable smile. his empty eye scans the discarded book left to rot with the rain and time. "only a demon can kill a demon, huh?" his words hop off his tongue with amusement, a hint of awe in the shape of a chuckle. when he turns back to face his mentee, there's not a sign of laughter on his face. he looks like he wants to make a break for it and hide in himself before a demon kills him.

this is wrong.

([Name] thinks this is not right.)

"yes, that's a good analogy, Dazai-san."

namiyo exits the room after informing [Name] of her latest findings. finally, they have found all their foster siblings—those who survived the attack at the orphanage, at least. the last one, rio, had been taken abroad along with a name change. she's being loved by a new family. [Name] rests easy knowing their family, the one within reach of their help, is safe and sound.

the moonlight can sometimes be deceiving. at such late hours of the night, the shadows blend and drown anything they touch. the dim light of the waxing moon plays tricks on Chuuya's eyes. he's heading out of the Port Mafia's building and towards the parking lot when he passes by an alleyway. he stops when he thinks he's caught something from the corner of his eyes. what little is in sight looks like a fault in the fabric of the universe; all he can't see breathes with gentleness.

he squints as he walks further into the darkness. then he's able to barely make out the shape of a person crouching and hunched over. it only takes him half a second to realize it's [Name]. his face softens. "hey, [Name]," he calls out, voice unusually quiet, "you good?" part of him worries Dazai has done something to them again. (he's not superstitious, but he should knock on wood.)

Chuuya sees how their shoulders stiffen. they crane their neck, throwing a wide-eyed glare over their shoulder. they seem prepared to attack at the drop of a shoe, but they're quick to recognize it's just Chuuya. they stand up and bow their head in greeting. "i'm okay, Chuuya-san."

"fuck are you doin'?"

it's just Chuuya is a comforting sentence most of the time. with a body trained to protect themself constantly, having someone that won't throw a punch unannounced feels like a breath of fresh air. Chuuya has realized [Name] doesn't keep their guard up when it's just him. but right now, they hesitate. he watches their eyes dart down to their feet as they try to consider their options. he doesn't press. then they step to the side and keep their stare on the floor. he blinks befuddled at a cardboard box holding three puppies.

"oh," he mutters. the puppies whine and wag their tails at the sight of a new face. although covered in patches of mud, they're cute. white fur and beady eyes glowing with hope. it's a miracle that they're alive, though. "you're taking care of 'em?"

[Name] shrugs. "nobody else seems to be doing it. i don't want 'em to die out here. they don't deserve that." it's because of [Name] that they're alive.

huffing a chuckle, Chuuya grins and turns back to [Name]. he thought, by the look in their eyes, they're only a milder version of Dazai, but that's not true. it is offensive to compare them to Dazai, because they're nothing alike. Dazai would never say words like those, let alone about a couple of stray dogs dying in a dirty alleyway. they bear their scars on uncovered skin to separate themself from a mirror image with all of their might. now Chuuya thinks that with the right mentoring, maybe they'll come around.

"fair. get home safe, [Name]."

"thank you, Chuuya-san, you too."

Nakahara Chuuya has always liked dogs. breed dogs, stray dogs, young, old, small, medium, big, long hair, short hair. it doesn't matter the shape or form, as long as it's a dog, Chuuya won't hesitate to extend his hand, wait for it to sniff, and then rub its head affectionately. maybe that's why he took such a liking to [Name].

he contemplates his options. on his drive home, in the shower, staring at the ceiling on his bed, during a meeting the following day, he considers adopting the puppies. if [Name] would trust anyone to take care of them, it must be him, right? plus, he really wouldn't mind giving [Name] some peace of mind by giving the dogs a roof over their heads. (they already deal with Dazai daily; they don't need more on their plate.) it doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

when night falls, he mutters, "to hell with it," to himself as he exits the Port Mafia headquarters. he decides he'll give it a shot. it's as good of an excuse as he's going to get to finally adopt a dog.

he hopes [Name] will be there when he stops by the alley. they only saw each other briefly in the hallway earlier and they didn't get to talk at all. as he rounds the corner underneath the unforgiving moonlight, he finds [Name] looming over the cardboard box from yesterday. it's a relief they're here so he can get this done and over with before he second-guesses himself. but then he catches incoherent mumbles overflowing from their lips. he can barely make out what they're babbling, almost as if they were in a trance.

"i won't do it again… i won't do it again… i won't do it again… i won't do it again… i won't do it again…"

"hey, [Name]," Chuuya calls, stepping closer. he recognizes the smell of blood anywhere. [Name] remains immobile, unresponsive. they clamp their mouth shut. he notices the blood dripping down their arms, cascading from fresh wounds. (he's not superstitious, but he should have knocked on wood.)

it takes a second for [Name] to react. "Chuuya-san." his name falls from their lips like the first snow. it becomes a cold pile of cruelty on the floor.

Chuuya hums to let them know they have his attention. the closer he gets, the stronger the scent of blood gets. it's not from [Name], he realizes, it's from the mangled mess of meat and bones inside a cardboard box. they can hardly be called puppies anymore. there's fur and there's blood and there's bullet shells and there's a demonic presence that left only a few seconds before Chuuya got here. he's always liked dogs, no matter the shape or form, but today he decides it does matter. he likes dogs when they're alive.

although he doesn't want to jump to conclusions, Chuuya glares at the back of [Name]'s head. "hey, did you—!"

"Chuuya-san," they say again and it's not cold this time. it melts the snow. it burns through the ground. it's the loudest whisper he's ever heard. [Name] turns their head to look him in the eye. there's an open wound on their forehead, blood drawing tears on their cheeks. "Chuuya-san," they repeat, the call of his name turned into faith that they might be saved (they don't want to be saved), "did you know Dazai-san doesn't like dogs?"

Chuuya feels his breath get caught in his throat. the air is knocked out of him before he can manage a single word. he likes dogs when they're away from Dazai.

[Name] casts their eyes down to the mauled puppies. "i didn't. now i do. i won't do it again…"

Nakahara Chuuya hasn't always liked [Name]. they were another of Dazai's playthings and he didn't particularly care about them. they were there, whether he acknowledged them or not. now that he does, much like dogs, he likes [Name] better when they're away from Dazai. there is no saving them as long as the mentoring they're receiving is the wrong one. it will always be wrong because it's Dazai the one mentoring them. (he's not superstitious, but he'll start knocking on wood from now on.)

note — although mcs backstory is fairly developed and all in my head, im not interested in going in depth about it. i just built it so theyd fit into the bsd world, but its not that important. it is important, but id rather focus on tearing dazai apart so thats why theres only brief mentions of mc being in a orphanage and all. if youve paid enough attention, you can probably piece things together, though on that note, borges was an argentine writer i dislike a lot. i didnt feel like coming up with a name for the head scientist in charge of researching mcs ability so i just threw borges' name in there. hes actually a dude (J. L. stands for jorge luis), but since asagiri made h. g. wells, kyouka, kouyou, and whoever else i might be missing into women, i figured so could i thats all. this is the last well see of chuuya and mc interacting on screen, if im not mistaken. drink water eat fruit have day 

[am-i-late-to-this08]

BROKEN GLASS

DA X DARKIPLIER

My first da x darkiplier fanfiction so be nice 👍

Pt. 1?

Warning: swearing, panic attack, blood

"COME BACK YOU BITCH!" You punch the mirror out of anger, to no avail. "GET ME OUT OF HERE YOU FUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE! NOW!" Your voice ricochets off the Walls of the mirror. "GET, Get me out." The blood in your ears defining you. "Please, please," You said as your voice faded into a whisper, your legs gave out underneath you and fell to the ground. "Fuck all of you." Tears cascaded down your face onto the tiles beneath. The entry was silent, only the echoes of your voice and damen-celine-mark things footsteps. That godforsaken bitch put you in here, whatever it is now, out there in your body you think? You don't know what happened, or where you are. You don't even know what you are anymore, only that you're stuck in a mirror. Stuck in this entry until someone has use of you.

No sense of time makes everything better. You think. The only thing keeping you sane is the ever increasing sense that one day you'll be useful to someone and get out. Your only purpose now is to watch as the years or centuries pass and wait. You've had a long time to think about what happened, and consider your life choices. All of this makes zero sense, but you know every letter of the books that were kept in the entrance room. The small bookshelf is slim pickings, a Bible, encyclopedia, a thesaurus, Shakespeare's greatest plays, molby Dick, smoke and mirror's (the irony),grimms fairytale and a book in Latin. You pick up molby dick off the coffee table and flip to the bookmarked page, somewhere in the middle. A sound of glass shattering catches your attention, maybe a raccoon or something like that. Instead you see yet another shard fall from the ever disappearing mirror. You fear once the remaining shards fall yet another confusion series of events may occur. "How do I know what I look like?" You ask yourself. After however long you have been in here, you lost any capacity to keep thoughts inside. Not like anyone will hear you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yet another scuffle draws your attention to the outside. "Look how far you've fallen." A smooth voice coos. "I can't believe you're still here. Good God." Damien's tone calls. "You..." I glare at the man before me. His gray skin contrasts with his white tuxedo, lines of blue and red etch him. "... You bitch." He looks you up and down disinterestedly. Dark circles line his eyes, or is it eyeliner? "That's gay." You whisper. His brow furrows. "Pardon?" You laugh. "You're wearing eyeliner. That's gay as hell. Or did Celine do that?" You ask. He simply shakes his head. Red copy's glitch around him as his eyes flash black. "Celine says hello." Your face goes blank. "So, what do you need from me? Wanna steal whatever is left of my soul? I can't think of anything else you can get from me." You grumble. "You always saw through me. I mean us." The last word emphasized by a distortion in his voice. "I need your help." He paused as his face softened. "You're the only person I can trust." Rage contorted your's. "Seriously?" You snort. "After how long? You ask me for help? Why don't you use my body for something useful, like digging a hole and dying in it?" You snap. Before he can respond you turn away as glass cracks underneath your feet. He sighs. "It been ninety four years. I thought you might wanna know." Ninety four years? Shit that's a long time,you think. "How's the colonial? Is he dead?" You ask. " No, he's alright. As alright as he can be, watching you die changed him. Now-now he's fucking insane. Worse than you, and your bad." He adds, avoiding your glare." Thanks." You mutter. "Nothing is going to get better if you stop being so goddamn stubborn all the time." The blue etchings glitch around him, Damien? "Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss, he recoils like he's been struck. "Alright." His tone shift's to calm. "Stay in here for the rest of eternity and rot more than you already have. I won't come back, not for a long time." His gaze finally meets yours, no emotion in his eyes. "If you want I can bring you something to pass the time. Or, I can get you out and you can help me. This is your choice." He adjust's his jacket, fidgeting around. " Go. Fuck. Yourself." You hiss again. He shakes his head and breaks contact." I'll come back tomorrow in case you change your mind." He looks you over one last time before walking away.

"Fine, I'll do it. Only if I don't ever come back here." You cracked,the thought of eternity in this place was worse than whatever he had planned you decided. "And this time, I won't be your pawn. I won't be killed ether. Last time it didn't end well." He nods. First thing in the morning he came back, all your rage yesterday disappeared and turned to grief." Do we have a deal? "He purrs, something shift's in his eyes. "Yes. But-how exactly does this work? Will I be possessing anyone?" You asked. Dark shook his head and laughed." No, it's hard to explain but you'll get your old body back. So, don't worry." He explained calmly." Okay, get on with it." You chime. He reached out his hand, his fingers dipping into the inky black in-between of the mirror. You follow his motion. His cold hands contrast with your hot and clamy ones, with a firm tug your hand is pulled through the black. All of a sudden every heartbeat sends waves of needle-like pricks and and pain through your body. You clench your jaw and hiss through the pain, his grip tightens. You feet come off the floor and kneecaps scrape against the remaining shards of glass. Just like it started the pain fades replaced pounding in your head and the stinging in your legs. You opened my eyes which you unknowingly closed. With your eyes glued to the floor you notice the diamond tiles are backward and the way your blood drips on the dusty tile. Once your breathing began to steady you lift your head, dark stood a few inches away with his hand reached out comfortingly. "Thank-thanks." You croaked, his smile brightened. The blood seeped out of the wound on your knees, bits of glass still stuck in your flesh. You looked down at your blood stained white dress pants, the outfit you 'died' in. "You're bleeding." Dark said, hand still in yours. He follows your eyes and pulls back his hand leaving yours cold. "Shit." He swears." What?" You ask, blood still dripping." Let's get you cleaned up, we need to go." He says huridley. " Okay, I doubt there's any clothes or a first aid kit here." You grumble." Right." A tingle goes across your kneecaps and the monotonous dripping stops. You look to see the open wounds close and the bits of glass fall into the puddle of blood. "Since when can you do that?" You blurt. He lifts his head and meets your eyes. "Practice." You scoff at his response.

[frozenmoonshine]

Ok, so, I just randomly decided to make a list of Top 10 hottest (male) TR charcters... No idea why, it just popped in my head, lmao.

I wrote this 97% for the lolz, so don't take it too seriously.

So, here it is:

Top 10 Hottest Guys of Tokyo Revengers

10. MITSUYA - It's common knowledge that he's the Husband Material ™️ of the series! He was introduced as this responsible, mature, reliable guy with a somewhat eccentric hobby, and you may be into the cool, calm, collected, talented, kind ones, who're good with kids and house chores, but you can't convince me that your ovaries didn't do a happy little backflip with his glow-up in the last arc! You just know he's a little devil behind that whole boy-next-door act. 😏

9. SHIN - Ok, throughout the most part of the story, he was just Mikey's dead brother, who Mikey himself led us to believe was weak, generally lame, and a hopeless loser with women. Then we got the flashback chapters in the last arc, and what did we see? Capable, hardworking, caring, loving, selfless, persistant man, strong both in a fight and in holding his ground. Hell, he cared for vegetative Mikey for four years, pretty much all alone, sacrificing his own dreams and life in the process. Also, black turtlenecks and bomber jackets. That's all I'm gonna say.

8. HANMA - Who doesn't love a bit of occasional insanity?! The ultimate troll, both in the verse and in the fandom, tricked us all good! That's just how bored he was. Annoying, completely random and unpredictable, grinning madman who's only there to watch the world burn, by setting it ablaze with his own hotness! I mean, tall, tattoed, well dressed, cocky, handsome bastard, with sleepy eyes, anyone?! I hate the fact that he's giving an inexplicably strong 'boyfriend vibe'! But, I just wanna call him 'Shuuji'... 🤭

7. HAKKAI - This cutie is criminally underrated and slept on! I know Wakui did him dirty by not giving him a more complex personality than just a Mitsuya simp, but look at him! Tall, handsome, strong, blue eyes, lip scar, piercing. No wonder he ended up with a modeling career! And on top of the stunning looks, he's just a pure, shy baby! 🥺 Makes you wanna tease and corrupt the hell out of him! 🤭 Besides, his implied clinginess and loyalty suggest he's a keeper, and if that isn't hot, I don't know what is!

6. MIKEY - The definition and the school example of that old proverb - the strongest poisons are kept in the tiniest flasks. Yes, having incredible fighting prowess is hot, being a capable leader is hot, having endless authority is hot, being "emo" is hot, being painfully cute is hot... We don't care that he's pocket sized (and mentally unstable), with his endless charisma, our favorite gang leader very well deserved his place on this list!

5. WAKA - Simply, he's sexy and he knows it. And we know it. You know it. Your grandma knows it. Everyone knows it. Teen or adult, law abiding citizen or a crime lord, the White Leopard could make anyone anywhere fall for him at the snap of his fingers! ...if he only cared enough to do so, tho.

4. KOKO - Intelligent, smart, sassy, sarcastic, and plain insolent = perfection. This cheeky, well-read, super stylish, handsome motherfucker had us fawning over his strong, passion-driven personality, hidden under the cool façade. What's not to love about a blindly devoted guy?! It doesn't matter if it's the devotion to a cause or a person he deems important (#lucky Inui siblings). But fair be fair, that habit of sticking his tongue out should be X rated...

3. BAJI - If his fiery, man-among-the-men personality, undying loyalty, and endless kindness aren't enough to make you burn like a car, just take a look at that perfectly chiseled face, cocky smirk, and glorious raven locks! Still not convinced? Well, you're either blind, dead, or not into guys at all! We should actually be grateful that his adult version was only ever shown at the very last chapter, cause anything more than that would have been beyond too hot to handle!

2. KAZUTORA - There's just something indescribably magnetic about the whole "redeemed sinner" trope, and that alone would have been enough to get him a spot on this list! But since he also happens to have the handsomest face in the show, a beauty mark under the eye, the cutest smile, a piercing, a tattoo, and a fair amount of badassery and strength, it all sums up to the total of our dear banana tiger being the runner-up!

1. HARUCHIYO - Does this one really need any explanation? Pathological loyalty is beyond hot, wearing a mask is hot, scars are super hot (as already established), suits are hot, piercings are hot, long lashes are hot, pale blond/albino is hot, green eyes are hot, skillfully wielding a sword is hot, smarts are hot, being a little bit deranged is hot... the list could really go on for days, there's literally nothing about him that doesn't make him hot. "...Being a homicidal maniac and a drug addict?" No, he's excused for all red flags on the account of pretty privilege!

[crazylittlejester]

I have a new headcanon for Mask :3 Mask doesn't know how to swim, and has; Megalohydrothalassophobia; fear of underwater creatures or objects and Thalassophobia; fear of large bodies of water. (This is me actively noting that there's hardly any swimming parts in the child half of Ocarina of Time(and ignoring them-) and stuff. Anything that happens while Link is an adult in OoT isn't Mask but rather Ocarina. They are their own separate entities/characters in The Auras of Light) I love Mask in my au. This kid is sassy, headstrong, stubborn, and overall a little shit. He's also Bigender, an insomniac, and straight up a gongshow. This is me tying in one of my other headcanons, being that Mask is terrified of feeling trapped(Cleithrophobia) (Lil tidbit: When Mask gets scared, she will involuntarily cover her left eye - this has to do with nearly losing it to the Dead Hand in the Shadow Temple) Mask just gets extremely paranoid around large bodies of water, especially since you never know when something could just- attack you out of nowhere. Mask is okay with shallow bodies of water- if at the beach or something he will go in to about his knees, and refuse to go any farther. She prefers to stay where she can touch the ground- if he can't touch, he's not going in. She'll worry that something'll grab her and drag 'em under. I'd also imagine that pre-OoT, when Mask was a kid he fell into the river at some point when she was like, four or something and nearly drowned cause like, nobody had really been like "lets teach the four year old how to swim :D". Mask probably gave up on learning how to swim from that point on and probably avoids the river as well. Mido being a bit of a jerk also definitely played some part into that first phobia- I can see Mido convincing a six or seven year old Mask that there were monsters that'd drag you under and eat you in the river or something, and like hell he'd believe that because last time he went near the river bro nearly drowned.

im so sorry this got absolutely BURIED in my inbox

these are cool!! I think its really interesting you have them as separate characters :)

[theuntoldoriginsoftheportmafia]

Part Ⅱ The Doctor, The Butterfly & The Wolf - Chapter 3.2

The Other Brother

912 Words

~ 6 weeks before the end of The Great War ~

Tachihara Shunzen never wanted to kill mindlessly, only fight for his nation and the ideals he believes in. Chief Medic Mori sparing him feels like a miracle. He owes the Chief Medic and Yosano-san his life. If he ever sees them again he'll do something nice for them.

When he steps off the boat back into the port of his home city it feels like coming home from outer space. He kisses the ground, not caring about the stares he gets. He has a family and a 4-year-old brother to get home to.

He hops in the first taxi cab he finds, not minding the expensive price for the distance from the port to the house in the city neighbourhood.

-

He hurries up the drive when he hears screaming.

"Why can't you be a good boy like your brother? What are you here for, just to be a hooligan? Why couldn't it have been him and not you, huh? Why don't you just die?"

Not bothering to knock, he enters the house to find his mother screaming at his younger brother, Michizou, the young boy sniffling back tears.

He jumps in front of his brother just as his mother raises her hand. "Mum? What are you talking about? What did he do?"

She sees him, her eyes widening but she can't stop and the hand crashes against her eldest's face. Having felt much worse, he doesn't flinch.

"Shunzen? You're alive! Oh, thank god! We thought you had died, I-"

He cuts her off, angry, disappointed. "Were you really going to hit a 4-year-old? Why?"

" . . . I–"

"And telling him to just die? Apologise!"

Michizou cowers. He's used to his parents yelling, but not his brother, even if it is in his defence.

"I'm sorry! We thought you were dead! Your last letter was like goodbye . . . and here you are, just fine." The apology is insincere and she's changing the subject.

"That's no excuse!" Shunzen turns to his brother, his face softening, "What did you, Michi?"

Michizou knows his brother wouldn't hurt him. "I got dirt on the floor." He says it with defiance, his big toddler eyes as narrow as they'll go, chin tilted up. Michizou can't bring himself to be sorry. He's gotten so tired of hearing about his perfect brother when he just wants him to actually be here that he's stopped caring about behaving.

Shunzen turns back to his mother, "Dirt? All that for a little dirt?"

Their mother has nothing to say for herself.

Shunzen picks up Michizou and takes him to the bathroom to wipe the mud off his clothes and face.

"Does Mum do that a lot?" he asks, trying to be casual as he takes a gentle cloth over his brother's face.

Michizou nods. "Dad, too. We thought you died."

It's a fair assumption. Given that he was so desperate to be home, the last letter almost sounded like a suicide note and then he didn't get time to write anymore

"No, I'm just fine, and I'm here now. So you don't have to worry about anything okay."

Michizou hugs his brother tightly, ignoring the pain it causes his bruises. He's too happy to have his brother back. Maybe now that he's here Mummy won't be mad all the time?

-

Shunzen sees his brother's bruises when he gets him ready for bed, not trusting his mother or father to be with the boy.

Fingerprint-shaped bruises on his arms from being grabbed, and various other purplish-yellow marks on his back.

After Michizou is safe in bed, Shunzen confronts his parents. He's never been one for making a big scene but he's furious.

"You know I always suspected that maybe he wasn't the favourite, but I never thought you'd do something like this. Is there a reason you've been beating up on him or do you just enjoy it?"

"Shunzen, dear, you misunderstand. He's such a rascal, always misbehaving, nothing like you at all. He'll probably end up a garbage collector or in jail if we don't beat it out of him now"

"He's four. I think sending him to bed early without dinner would do the job." Shunzen walks off, stopping the argument there so his parents don't suspect a thing.

-

They have no idea that anything is amiss when Shunzen wakes his brother. They're ignorant when he packs suitcases with their clothes, toothbrushes and Michizou's few baby books. They haven't a clue when the car starts.

"What are we doing?" Michizou asks

"We're leaving."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet, but anywhere away from here?"

"Away from Mummy and Daddy?"

"Yes. They're not going to stop hitting you. I know you might still love them, but we can't stay. You'll understand better when you're older. For now, you just have to trust me. Can you do that?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay." Shunzen smiles as he turns out of the neighbourhood.

Michizou kicks his feet excitedly, holding as carefully as he can onto his brother's old piggy bank which now contains all the cash that was in the house. Shunzen doesn't relish the thought of stealing but there wasn't much and his parents can do fine on their own.

By the time the sun rises the two boys are out of the city.

Shunzen doesn't know where he's going but it needs to be as far as he can get while still staying in civilization. He's heard of good, easily affordable universities in a city called Yokohama, so he'll start there.

(A/N: I know such a young child probably can't speak that well but I didn't feel like writing baby talk so here you go.)

[queen-of-the-avengers]

The Avengers: Part One

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon violence and angst

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You're here. You finally did it. You finally got off that god-forsaken planet. It took months to achieve, especially since Loki's hidden crevasses were super hard to find and navigate. Still, you're back on Earth and ready to help with Phil's Tesseract problem.

You look around the area to assess your surroundings when you notice the Bifrost marking on the ground. The same marking you stood next to after the battle with the Destroyer. You're in New Mexico and you can only assume Fury and Phil are in New York with the Tesseract. After nearly twenty years away from the thing that gave you powers, you have the opportunity to be face-to-face with it again.

The thing that has been the bane of your existence. The Tesseract is the cause of all your problems. If Markus didn't know about it, you might not have been an Avatar. If you're not an Avatar, you might not have found your way to Earth. If you hadn't come to Earth, you would have never met Ikaris, Bucky, Steve, Carol, Fury, Tony, and so many other people who are important to you.

You both hate and love what the Tesseract has done for you. It's time to finally face it.

It takes a normal commercial airplane six hours to get from New Mexico to New York, but you do it in three. Fury hasn't changed his office since acquiring it back in 1995 so it's easy to spot amid all the new stores. It's been a few years since you've been back in this state, and it seems like everything and nothing has changed. There are new stores that weren't here before but the same crowds bustle up and down the streets.

If you close your eyes, you can picture what New York was like in the 1940s. All the modern screens you see weren't there back then. It was crowded with short buildings and billboards that people changed out every week by hand. There weren't the designer-brand stores you see now but mom-and-pop stores that did quite well for their time. Each restaurant had a small space on the strip, but that didn't mean their food wasn't delicious.

Centuries before that in the 1700s, New York was completely a whole different world. The roads weren't paved, everyone rode horses everywhere, and there was no Central Park to hang out in. It's weird how different one city can look every couple hundred years. What will the world look like in 2200?

You walk through the bustling city to get to Nick's office, and you stroll right in as if you belong there. His assistant is baffled when you walk right past him, and you pay no mind to him.

"Ma'am, you can't just walk right in there!" he says and chases after you. You knock once and enter his office, and Fury looks up from his desk. "Ma'am, you need an appointment!"

"It's alright, George. I can handle this."

George mumbles a few curse words before walking away. You close the door behind him and turn to Fury with crossed arms.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Stuck on another planet with no way out. I know it's only been a few months but I'm here now."

"A few months? Try a couple of years."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been MIA for two years. I thought you were dead."

You fall back into a chair across from his desk in shock.

"No, you're messing with me."

"I wish I was."

"I got a message from Phil four months ago saying you found the Tesseract."

"He sent that two years ago. It's 2012."

You look down and try to wrap your head around the fact that time works differently on Asgard than it does on Earth. Two years. Wow, you can't believe it.

"O-Okay, um, do you still have the Tesseract?"

"We've been permitted to study it a year ago. It's been docile for the most part. We're still trying to see what it is and what its power is.

"I can tell you that. It's not just a cube. It's an Infinity Stone which is very powerful. If you're tampering with it, you won't like what comes out of it."

"See, this is why we needed you here months ago. I just got reports that something is happening at the lab. Care to join me?"

"Yeah. Let's go."

You're a bit eager to see the cube that gave you your powers. It's been calling to you since arriving on Earth, and you can't ignore it anymore.

You and Fury head to the parking garage and meet with his right-hand woman, Maria Hill. You two pile into the backseat while Fury gets hold of the wheel. Without even knowing her, she's a bit apprehensive that you're here on such a sensitive project.

"How do you know Nick?" she asks.

"I'm sure you've heard about what happened to him in 1995."

"You mean the year he lost sight of his eye?" she chuckles.

"Yeah, exactly." Fury gives you a look in the rear-view mirror but you wave him off. "I was there. Carol and I are the reason Nick came up with the Avengers Initiative. The Tesseract is what gave me half my powers. The Tesseract is like a door, a portal that can transport anyone anywhere in the universe. I spent a lot of time studying it."

"Where were you a couple of months ago?"

"Stranded on another planet, but I'm here now."

Fury drives to a helicopter pad that will transport you to the facility they have in the middle of nowhere. Fury must have been building this facility for a while now because it's huge. After all, he had two years to put something like this together. Man, two years. You still can't believe it. This is the place where you can test something like the Tesseract. When you step off the helicopter, you're greeted by Phil Coulson who has taken point for the entire facility. Men in suits run around the place, soldiers jump into Humvees, and a voice bellows from the loudspeakers.

"So much for a device to use if I need you," Phil says when he sees you.

"I am so sorry. I thought it was only four months. I tried so hard to get back here as fast as I could. Time passes differently on Asgard."

"How bad is it?" Fury asks, interrupting your apology.

"That's the problem, sir. We don't know." Phil leads you, Fury, and Maria through the radiation section of the facility. There are tons of signs around warning about the dangers of radiation exposure. Hundreds of technicians and other staff run around, taking only the essentials. It must be pretty bad if everyone is evacuating. "Dr. Selvig read an energy surge from the Tesseract four hours ago."

"Erik is here?" you ask but receive no answer.

"NASA didn't authorize Selvig to test phase."

"He wasn't testing it. He wasn't even in the room. Spontaneous advancement."

"It turned itself on?" Maria asks, surprised.

"Not surprising. It is an energy source," you say.

"What are the energy levels now?"

"Climbing. When Selvig couldn't shut it down, we ordered the evac."

"How long to get everyone out?"

"Campus should be clear in the next half hour."

"Do better."

Phil immediately turns and leaves to help with the evacuation.

"Sir, evacuation may be futile."

"You're suggesting we should tell them to go back to sleep?" Fury asks Maria.

"If we can't control the Tesseract's energy, there may not be a minimum safe distance."

"I might be able to help with that. I have its power. I can try and control it."

"This is why I brought you along," Fury says to you before turning to Maria. "I need you to make sure that Phase 2 prototypes are shipped out."

"Sir, is that really a priority right now?"

"Until such time as the world ends, we will act as though it intends to spin on. Clear out the tech below. Put every piece of Phase 2 on a truck and gone."

"Yes, sir."

"What's Phase 2?" you ask when you continue alone with Fury.

"Need-to-know, and you don't need to know." Man, two years being gone has done a number on him. You two walk into the lab facility holding the Tesseract. "Talk to me, doctor."

Erik looks up at Fury when he looks at you.

"Y/N? I thought you were on Asgard."

"I was. I got out. Are you the only one here? Where's Jane?"

"Nowhere here, thankfully."

You look at the bright cube across the other end of the room and feel a magnetic pull trying to get you to come closer. The longer you stare at it, the more you're mesmerized by it. Your hands glow a soft orange without your permission. Fury does a double take at you and places his hand on your shoulder. It's enough to snap you out of your trance.

"What? Sorry," you shake your head.

"What can you tell us, Doctor?"

"The Tesseract is... misbehaving."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"No, it's not funny at all. The Tesseract is not only active, she's... misbehaving. She's an energy source. If we turn off the power, she turns it back on. If she reaches peak level..."

"We've prepared for this, Doctor. Harnessing energy from space."

"We don't have the harness. Our calculations are far from complete. Now she's throwing off interference and radiation. Nothing harmful, just low levels of gamma radiation."

"That can be harmful. Where's Barton?"

"The Hawk? Up in his nest, as usual."

You look up to see one of the first agents Fury recruited for his Avenger team. You have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him, but you are now.

"Agent Barton, report."

As Clint is making his way down, you look at Fury in concern.

"Erik is right. You can't harness energy from space. Humans aren't that advanced."

"This facility is." Clint approaches Fury from behind, and the older agent turns to the younger one. "I gave you this detail so you could keep a close eye on things."

"I see better from a distance."

"Hi, I'm Y/N."

"Yeah, I saw you two years ago trying to get that hammer."

"Right."

Why are you feeling like you don't belong here? The only thing you have in common with everyone else is the fact that you have the same power as the Tesseract.

"Are you seeing anything that might set this thing off?"

"No one's come or gone. There hasn't been any contact from it. If there was any tampering, sir, it wasn't at this end."

"At this end?"

"Yeah, the cube is a doorway to the other end of space, right? The door's open from both sides."

The Tesseract has flares coming out the sides of it. Energy is pouring into the room rapidly, so much so that it shakes the entire facility. It's big enough that Phil and Maria can feel it from where they are on the other end of the facility.

The flaring rings and glow of the cube spout out brighter and louder, like a boiling pot of water. The Tesseract's energy builds up into a beam much like the Bifrost Bridge, which hits at the end of a platform that is wired to the device the cube sits on. The beam forms a vortex which opens a portal much like what you can do on your own.

Everyone is on alert now that the door has been opened. Everything is still for five minutes. No one is breathing, moving, or doing anything that might disrupt the Tesseract's power. Suddenly someone steps through the portal with his head down. He is heavily breathing as if he had just run a marathon. He is holding a staff in his hands that looks like Gungnir but has a glowing gem on the sharp end of the staff.

He looks up to address the room and your heart stops. It's Loki. He died. You watched him fall to his death. He looks around the room at everyone before locking eyes with you. He seems to go rigid at the thought of facing you once again. After two years of not seeing him, memories come rushing to the surface of your mind.

He's coming. Someone tipped him off and he's on his way to get you. Asgard is preparing for another fight not knowing if Markus is coming for more than just you. It's been a year of peace away from the horrors of Markus. You've fallen in love with Loki; you can't bear the thought of leaving him.

You and Loki are in his room. There are sounds of battle happening in the castle. You can hear Markus yelling for you.

"I don't want to leave here," you cry in Loki's arms. "Please don't let him take me. I want to stay with you."

Loki pulls you close and kisses you passionately as if it's going to be the last time. Your tears mix in with his kiss but he doesn't seem to mind. You were meant to be in his arms. He fits so perfectly around you. His lips were made to kiss yours. He pulls away from you and rests his forehead on yours.

"I love you, Loki. I am in love with you."

Loki's tears fall down his cheeks as if what you said pains him. He kisses you once more before cupping your cheeks in his large hands.

"I am so sorry," he whispers.

"For what?"

He doesn't answer. His magic glimmers around you and seeps into your head, and your eyes shine green to match what he's doing to you. The next thing you remember, you're back on Xenia with Markus.

The bastard really did take your life from you. You were so much in love with Loki that you begged him to save you. He turned you in instead.

x

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[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (5/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.3k

A/N: All the typical Under the Mountain trigger warnings apply here. There isn't any weight talk in this chapter, but there is a brief mention of skipping meals. A few lines for dialogue are also lifted directly from ACOTAR book one.

Feyre goes Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 or you can find the fifth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations | ch. 4 - can't not think of all the cost | ch. 5 - honey i rose up from the dead

The next six weeks were the longest of my life—I didn't hear from Rhys again. Even with my own shields up, his feelings leaked through occasionally, none of them positive. Despair, guilt, rage, violation, pain, disgust.

At night, my dreams were glimpses through his eyes of Amarantha's cruel court Under the Mountain. When it was nothing more than heads on spikes or lashes across a back, I slept through the night. Sometimes, though, it was his hands and mouth all over Amarantha in her bedroom, and on those nights, the urge to vomit ripped me from sleep and sent me running towards the toilet. The dreams were so vivid, I could still taste her on my tongue when I woke up. I'd never thought the sick, burning taste of bile could be a mercy until it erased the evidence of what she'd been doing to Rhys.

I took to skipping dinner, just so there would be less to hurl up.

I could only hope that if it worked the opposite way for him, the sight of the city—Velaris, as I learned it was called—helped him through it. But he clearly didn't want to talk, so I couldn't be sure.

When Amarantha didn't feature in the nightmares, it was the Spring Court. Sometimes I dreamed about Andras killing me in revenge, sometimes it was Tamlin dragging me back and forcing me to kill and kill and kill. Those dreams never made me vomit, just left me with a sense of guilt that felt like a physical thing weighing me down and pinning me to the bed.

On those nights, I'd stare at the ceiling and wonder if the blame truly lay at Tamlin's feet for sending Andras to die, Amarantha's for cursing Tamlin in the first place, or mine for being so quick to shoot. I couldn't have known Andras wouldn't hurt me—and had every reason to believe he would—but maybe if I had something other than ice and hatred in my heart, I could have figured it out. The uncertainty meant I'd never be able to scrub that particular stain from my soul.

During the day, I trained. I had no hope of besting a faerie in combat, but that didn't mean it was useless to learn. Cassian ran me through drills intended to make me more nimble, harder to grab onto and winnow to another location. And after I'd mentioned chucking my hunting knife at Tamlin when he'd taken me away, Azriel found me a properly balanced set of throwing knives and taught me to use them. Even if I never landed a hit, the distraction of blades sailing through the air might buy me time to run and hide. Mor wrestled me to the ground as I practiced bargaining, making sure I could close loopholes even as she twisted my arm behind my back. Amren taught me to shield my mind, though it was slow going without an actual daemati to practice with. I didn't dare ask Rhys.

When we weren't in the training ring, I poured over maps of passageways Under the Mountain. There was always the chance that Amarantha had rearranged things in the last fifty years, but I memorized it all anyway. The four of them quizzed me on the key players in Amarantha's court and their allegiances, or at least, what we knew of it from the rumors that drifted back to Velaris. Information could also be its own sort of armor.

Amren was researching exactly what my unfinished bargain tattoo with the Night Court could mean. Every so often, she brought the books to the training ring and sat in the sun to read as we practiced and sparred. Cassian sometimes tried to goad her into joining us, but she never did. 

From what I could gather, Amren and Mor had their hands full keeping the Night Court running in Rhys's absence, and their inability to leave Velaris only complicated matters. Cassian and Azriel were often pulled away to attend to their own duties, too.

Even with so much work to distract us, we were all anxious and restless.

After a few days, I moved my things to the House of Wind, tired of feeling like an invader in someone else's house and a burden for needing to be flown to the training ring. Mor, Cassian, and Azriel were staying there too, and we had an unspoken agreement not to discuss how little we were all sleeping. I wasn't the only one who overtrained to the point of exhaustion—sometimes it was easier to be too worn out to feel or think.

Perhaps it was just because at this point, I might have been able to get used to anything, but after a week at the House of Wind, I realized I was comfortable here. There was less formality than in Spring, and even as she sipped blood, Amren was less frightening when she dropped by just to sit at the dinner table and bicker. Mor and Cassian both offered to pick up paints for me, but I declined every time. It felt selfish to sit and paint while Rhys was suffering.

And I wasn't sure I was ready to face whatever would be staring back at me from the canvas when I was done.

The four of them took to playing cards, something Cassian told me they'd done with other soldiers during the War, when everything either had been short bursts of danger or long, dull periods of waiting and dread between battles. Killing time before Tamlin's curse ran out felt like the latter. Azriel offered to teach me the rules—and some of the strategies that won him more games than the others combined—but I was content to just watch, sitting on the sofa with a blanket around my shoulders and listening to them talk. At times, I was still acutely aware that everyone there but me had centuries of shared history, but I could live with that.

In Night, I was just Feyre, not Feyre-the-human, and that made all the difference.

The night before I left, we didn't talk about what I was going to do. I didn't want to be fussed over, even if I was preparing to run straight into danger. And now I knew that they'd seen enough comrades off to war that all four of them knew how to navigate the situation. Fretting too much might just make me panic and lose my nerve.

That morning, I changed back into the clothes I'd come here wearing—it wouldn't do to let anyone conclude where I'd been. I took my bow and a few knives, ones that wouldn't have a maker's mark that could be traced back to the Night Court. Mor winnowed me to the very edge of the wards, glamoured me to hide my scent and tattoos, and gave me one last wordless hug.

I headed south for the caves.

Something akin to relief washed over me as I walked. Part of it was almost certainly the mating bond—I'd always feel a bit better when I was getting closer to Rhys. But beyond that, it felt good to be actually doing something for once. Nothing rankled me more than inaction in the face of a problem, whether that was my family's money troubles or Amarantha.

When I crossed the Night Court's border, back into the cave, my stomach flipped. I stood stock-still in the entrance for a while, just letting my eyes adjust before I pressed forward. I took a few deep breaths, willing the instinct to turn and run back to safety to subside.

I followed the path back the way I'd come after Calanmai, not sure where I was going beyond a general direction. Save the occasional drip of water in the distance, the cave was silent. This wasn't like hunting in the woods, where there was still distant birdsong or rustling leaves. This was a place devoid of life.

I lost all sense of time, but at some point, the cave walls became something unnatural, deliberately hewn out of the rock. A hall. I was close, then. A part of me wanted to tug on the bond, to send out I'm here I'm here I'm here, but that would likely prove deadly. I needed to get my bearings.

I turned another corner and found myself in a passageway lit by torches. The firelight wasn't strong, but after so much darkness, the light hurt my eyes. I pressed against a wall, trying to conceal myself in a shadow while I let them adjust again.

As I waited for the pain to fade, long, bony fingers wrapped around my arm. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a scream.

"Hello," a voice said, and at least it was a voice I recognized, even as I suppressed a shudder. The Attor. "What's something like you doing here?"

I let it drag me and realized we were heading towards the throne room. Or at least, that's where it was on the maps. The thought of getting closer to Amarantha ignited my anger, burning away the last of my fear. Faeries we passed leered at me, not a single familiar face among them.

As the Attor pulled me through the enormous carved stone doors, I felt the bond light up in my chest. Music played in the distance, and the throne room was crowded with fae—a party of sorts, and Rhys was among them somewhere.

The Attor hurled me forward, and I stumbled but didn't fall to my knees. I raised my head and looked at Amarantha through my own eyes for the first time. She lounged on an ebony throne, picking at her nails, the nails I'd seen scratching Rhys's skin too many times to count.

But the sound of my name pulled my attention away from her.

"Feyre?" Tamlin said from his place next to her. "You're alive?"

Even with the golden mask still covering his face, he looked rattled, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. I hadn't known how he'd react, but I hadn't expected him to go so pale.

Amarantha looked right at me and smiled like an adder. "Don't tell me this is the one and only Feyre Archeron," she said.

My blood ran cold. She was not supposed to know my name.

But I couldn't let her see the fear that was clawing at my insides—if my time in the Night Court had taught me anything, it was how to put up a front. I held my chin high and said, "So my reputation precedes me, then?"

Amarantha actually clapped at that, as if I were nothing more than a trained animal who'd just done a trick for her amusement. The crowd tittered behind me. Good. They'd hold off on killing me if I was more fun for them alive.

"Tamlin, you didn't tell me she was so mouthy. It must have made all your attempts to get her to fall in love with you so much more aggravating," Amarantha purred. Tamlin just sat in stony silence, though even from a distance I could see his jaw tighten. He must have recovered from the shock enough to realize that saying anything would just be giving her the satisfaction. Undeterred, Amarantha continued, "But that does beg the question: if Feyre is alive and well, whose corpse did you leave in Tamlin's garden, Rhysand?"

I followed her gaze over to where Rhys was sauntering through the crowd. By now, I'd thought I'd gotten used to the mating bond, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to run and fling myself at him. And though I really should have been more concerned with who he might have murdered, all I could think about was how unfair it was for anyone to have that refined perfection of his, even when he looked at me as if I were something unpleasant he'd stepped in.

"She wasn't the only mortal out near the Wall on Calanmai, and humans all look the same. I must have mistaken the other one for her," he said.

A lie, of course. Rhys could never mistake someone else for me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but if it made everyone else believe he'd kill me without a second thought, then we were both safer for it.

Perhaps this had been the dirty work he'd taken care of after sending me away.

Amarantha's voice went sharp as she said, "You're getting sloppy, Rhysand. Don't."

Rhys inclined his head at her, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd been raised as courtier. "Apologies, my queen," he said, all polish.

I almost lunged for her right then. The hatred must have shown on my face, but I didn't let it go beyond that. Even if I could have killed her with my bare hands, Rhys deserved to be the one to pry her apart, not me.

Amarantha turned her attention back to me, and I stared back, waiting for her to look away first. She didn't scare me, even if she should have. "And the other question," she said, her voice now dangerously soft, "is what brought you here and why I shouldn't just kill you now."

A test, but one I was fully prepared for. Without hesitation, I said, "I'm here to claim my High Lord."

"Your High Lord?" Amarantha grinned and turned to Tamlin. A fatal mistake. I'd chosen my words carefully, practiced just so she'd wrongly assume instead of asking exactly who my High Lord was. "Oh, this is just marvelous. You actually got a human worm to love you after all. But she's here just a little too late, and isn't that a tragedy? I don't think I could come up with something more deliciously ironic if I tried."

Tamlin just continued to sit in silence, which was probably for the best.

"You tricked him and bound him unfairly," I said, all righteous anger. Never mind the fact that I was also tricking her at that very moment.

"And you think you're going to do something about it?" Amarantha said with a laugh that revealed her too-sharp teeth.

Perhaps it was reckless, but I said, "Yes."

Her laughter died, and she snarled at me like the beast she truly was. "I should kill you just for that, human. But since the curse has ended, I've been desperate for some new amusement. I'll make a bargain with you."

A familiar, sick sort of satisfaction washed over me, the same feeling I got as I watched the loop of a snare tighten around a rabbit's leg. I hadn't even had to suggest a bargain myself—she was walking into my trap all on her own.

"Complete three tasks of my choosing, and he's yours. Three little tasks. How hard could it be?" she crooned.

"If I complete all three of your tasks, you'll return his magic immediately," I said.

Perhaps it was a leap of faith, but if Rhys's power was returned to him, that was all we needed. He wouldn't let her kill me. Maybe it was the mating bond clouding my judgment, but that was the one thing I'd bet on every time. I decided to take the risk of leaving some loopholes open—if I seemed too adept at bargaining, she might suspect something.

Even that was enough for Amarantha to narrow her eyes at me. I was tempted to glance at Rhys for reassurance, but I couldn't give in to that. Instead, I did my best to look poised—not defiant enough that she'd change her mind and snap my spine, but not cowed, either.

"Lest anyone here think I'm anything but a generous queen—and just to see how smart you really are—I'll give you a faster way out. Before the third task is complete, you just have to solve a riddle to return his magic. You can answer at any time, but if you're incorrect, I'll have your dear Tamlin kill you in whatever way strikes my fancy. How does that sound?"

I turned that over in my mind and didn't find any loopholes to close, at least not with the riddle. The tasks, however, were a different story. "Tell me more about the nature of the tasks."

"One each month, at the full moon."

"And in the meantime?"

The words had left my mouth a little too quickly, and I held back a wince. Amarantha's eyes flashed, and I might have pushed too hard.

"You'll remain in your cell," she said pointedly, "or earn your keep doing whatever work I require."

I hesitated, thinking of the work Rhys had to handle that wouldn't leave him clean. She might make me a murderer again.

For Rhys, I'd do it.

It still left too many other ways for her to rig the tasks, so I said, "Running me ragged would put me at a disadvantage."

"Nothing beyond basic housework. Human filth earns its keep in my court. Are we agreed?"

As she waited for my answer, she tapped her nails on the throne impatiently. The hall had gone silent, the entire court seeming to wait with bated breath for my answer. There would be no more negotiating.

And that was fine with me because I'd gotten exactly what I needed from her, a viable path forward to return Rhys's magic. I suppressed a triumphant smile as I said, "We are agreed."

I'd won the first round, and I'd done it in true Night Court style—concealing everything so well that she didn't even know she'd been bested.

I let her sit back on her throne looking like a cat that had just caught a canary. Magic swept through the room. It left a faint trace in the air, the way the smell of lighting lingered after it struck.

To someone behind me, Amarantha said, "Give her a greeting worthy of my hall."

On instinct, I braced myself to take a hit just how Cassian had taught me—jaw clenched so it wouldn't shatter, knees bent, elbows and forearms protecting my liver and spleen. The Attor hissed. Something hard collided with the side of my face. I rolled my torso to minimize the damage, planting my feet so I wouldn't fall. I tracked the movement of leathery wings and dodged the next punch.

I took two more hits before I finally fell. My bones cracked. By then, I was in too much pain to count how many of them were beating me. All I could do was make a feeble attempt to protect soft places—my eyes, my stomach—until I passed out.

I woke in a cell, laying on my side as if someone had placed me there to ensure I didn't choke on my own vomit. My head swam, but I forced myself to my feet anyway, bracing a hand against the stone wall for balance, even as my legs trembled.

Each breath hurt, which probably meant bruised or broken ribs. I swirled my tongue along my teeth and sighed in relief when I confirmed for myself that all of them were intact despite the taste of blood in my mouth. That must have come from my swollen, split lip. The worst of it all was the throbbing pain in my nose, compounded by what were surely two black eyes. I didn't dare touch my face, but I suspected my nose was broken.

I took deep breaths and willed myself to stay calm enough to think clearly. The injuries hurt, but there was nothing that seemed to need immediate attention or threatened my life. That seemed like a deliberate choice on someone's part.

Fine. I would be fine. It was just pain, and I could white-knuckle my way through that, the way I had endured hunger for years.

Just as I felt confident enough to step away from the wall and bear my own weight, the light from the torches beyond the cell door winked out. I wasn't afraid. There was only one person here whose arrival would be heralded by darkness.

As if on cue, Rhysand appeared. It was the first—though certainly not the last—time that I saw my mate looking absolutely furious with me.

[fumblingmusings]

I am an absolute and utter fucking SUCKER for Scotland ×England sibling dynamics of older and younger sibling shenanigans

I love the idea of Scotland being the older brother who England can rely on. Whilst i believe the fandom mostly prefers Wales and England sibling dynamics bc the way Scotty is in the manga (he is a bit of a dick to England, which i believe stems from how the Scottish and English relationship actually is) , i believe Scotland is the one who looked after and raised England when they were wee babys, and is the one England inevitably runs to for just ab anything

(this can also be my unhealthy obsession with ScotEng but this isn't relevant to the ask so ignore it)

I loved all the moments England/Evelyn and her siblings had in SPE.

I wonder what they felt seeing their little sister slowly losing herself, constantly falling ill, if they worried she would slowly fade out of existence at one point or if conflicts between their governments made then cold towards her and anticipating the day she was gone.

What was their relationship as baby nations? You mentioned in your fic that Eva didn't remember her mother much, and what little she did, she believed her mother didn't want her at all. Does that mean Ali and Wales were in charge of raising England as a child? What was that like for them? At what point did they teach Eva what she was and what the would mean for her and them.

I hope your future fics could have more UK sibling moments, whether as nations or as humans, bc i love them deeply and i literally live for any uk sibling content.

In other words, where do i send you the monies for more England and their brothers sharing a single braincell. Bc the car scene had me dying

This answer is so long I'm sorry I completely rambled sorry sorry...

Scotland is a dick in the manga towards England partly because he deserves to be a dick towards England and partly because us Scots are the most contrarian annoying bastards on the planet where everything has to be a goddamn battle and it's genuinely exhausting because most English and Welsh people would let it go out of fear of being rude or confrontational but Scots just get a kick out of being the devil's advocate in the most inopportune times. This is partly England's fault and partly just a leftover from how stubborn the Highland-Lowland conflicts have been over the years. That Simpsons joke by grounds-keeper Willy?

They're right.

Anyway!

I love the idea of Scotland being the older brother who England can rely on. Whilst i believe the fandom mostly prefers Wales and England sibling dynamics bc the way Scotty is in the manga (he is a bit of a dick to England, which i believe stems from how the Scottish and English relationship actually is) , i believe Scotland is the one who looked after and raised England when they were wee babys, and is the one England inevitably runs to for just ab anything

I like the idea of England Scotland and Wales really only having each other for about a thousand years, with Ireland always keeping its distance where necessary. And those early memories don't go away easily, that human connection cannot be forgotten even after a hundred armies and a dozen dead Kings say they should.

A lot of the time, all they had was each other, when England was split in seven Scotland in four, and Wales in god knows how many tiny kingdoms. They were real wanderers. And no matter what they do to each other, they still can't get that first millennium out of their memories. Scotland is and was far more likely to intercede in English politics when requested by the government versus the other neighbours. Because we're nosey buggers who like burning York.

I go with Wales being the oldest (which I think is not a popular choice but... meh), then Ireland, then Scotland, then England, and then obviously wee Northern Ireland a thousand years later. I know Hima has the Irelands in a sort of two Italies situation where they were babies together, but I think that's the biggest piece of canon where I'm like... no. I can maybe accept him popping up during the late 16th century, but not prior to the 1000s like the other four.

I think in the fic I have the kids born around the time of Rome's arrival. But they aren't Rome's kids. I don't know... haven't thought it through entirely, but Britannia was never a particularly good mother by modern standards, even more so when it hit home that the children, but particularly England, signalled her death. Evie went from being her mother's little apple to a cuckoo bird. And Eva liked Rome, he was funny and made her smile and brought her nice things. Her mother didn't, clearly, and made her and Ireland watch the destruction of Colchester and St Alban's and London. Ireland was like ooft. alrighty. Then went on with her day. But England took it... poorly.

But when they lose their mum, they are still kids themselves. None of them are a day over twelve when Britannia dies, so they know what it's like to rely on fickle humans for protection only to realise they really can't stay too long with any of them. They raise each other for a while until they all go their separate ways. I mentioned in the fic that England was a clingy, weepy little girl. Honestly, her siblings, who were just kids themselves, couldn’t cope with her, and one by one, they decided to go and live with their own people.

I headcanon that England and Scotland were the last to split because the overlap of what's now Lothian, the Borders, Cumbria, and Northumberland were grey areas in ownership for such a long time. Edinburgh was after all technically English from 680 to 970, and in the 940s, Strathclyde stretched through Cumbria and into Yorkshire, so England and Scotland have always been overlapping with their people.

I loved all the moments England/Evelyn and her siblings had in SPE. I wonder what they felt seeing their little sister slowly losing herself, constantly falling ill, if they worried she would slowly fade out of existence at one point or if conflicts between their governments made then cold towards her and anticipating the day she was gone. What was their relationship as baby nations? You mentioned in your fic that Eva didn't remember her mother much, and what little she did, she believed her mother didn't want her at all. Does that mean Ali and Wales were in charge of raising England as a child? What was that like for them? At what point did they teach Eva what she was and what the would mean for her and them.

The UK siblings for me are interesting during the 16th to 19th centuries because they all lack control one way or another, and the way they try to take it back for themselves is toxic. Scotland and Wales throw themselves into the army and navy respectively, and England completely shuts herself away with stolen children. Like they just disconnect from their own people. The whole point of Slow Paced Envy was to write about dissonance. Dissonance between the character's actions, what came out of their mouths, what they thought and what they knew to be true. Everyone in that fic runs on contradictions that are either flat out toxic and dangerous or - at best - delusional. England isn't the only one in the fic like that. I hope I portrayed it well...

So England is their baby sister at the end of the day. And she is - to be blunt - such an anomaly. She's so much weaker, she's got far less fire in her, she's way more passive. Scotland loves to travel and see the world (and do all kinds of heinous or drunken things) - it's what he lives for. Wales loves to fight. England wants to have a wee farmstead with barn cats and her witch cauldron. Her brother's flip between resenting her and pitying her.

But she's still their baby sister. I think that colours their relationship with her more than if it were Arthur, who is just another boy, albeit the youngest. Again, I think gender messes with the dynamic. Ireland deliberately extricates herself from the 'oldest sister = caretaker' role, but England falls into the 'baby' role, definitely. Not spoiled particularly, but she does receive the most attention. From everyone. Not that it ever made her happy.

There was no chance of them being on equal footing with each other. Scotland wanted it to be him. It was his royal family after all the pulled them all together. He has the better temperament for power, is more book smart, is a better tactician etc etc... And yet it's all on baby sister who by the 17th century is addicted to Opium and probably has had TB for the past three hundred years. It's laughable. It's a joke. God is mocking them. Make it make sense.

It's that conflict of "I know my sibling and they personally would never lay a hand on me but their people will and sometimes I cannot look at my sibling without thinking about what their people have done in their name and I hate them for it."

That saying that makes its round on the internet: the love was there, it didn't change anything, but it was there. That's really how I understand Scotland Wales and England's relationship. Love cannot overcome, nor should it necessarily. But it's still there. And that's something.

I hope your future fics could have more UK sibling moments, whether as nations or as humans, bc i love them deeply and i literally live for any uk sibling content. In other words, where do i send you the monies for more England and their brothers sharing a single braincell. Bc the car scene had me dying

Ha! This ask was payment enough. I'm glad you enjoyed the car scene. The one bit of levity that entire fic had...

Thank you for the ask! I'm sorry this reply is so scattered and long but ah! It made me happy. Thank you!

[naoa-ao3]

Instrument of War

Frank Castle is old now and the streets of New York know when to be afraid. Petty criminals and the scum that run the streets know.

The crunch of his boots and the clink of his casings hitting the dirty pavements have become as regular as church bells but there's always more to clean up. The city's never clean and as the years roll past he wonders what will become of it after he's dead.

Men like him don't usually live this long.

Vietnam and all the shit before and all the shit after. . . men with his kind of anger and his kind of temper. . . but somehow he's still here. Everyone else is dead but he's still here and so each night he goes out and tries to reclaim a bit of the streets, tries to right the wrongs that have already passed.

He see's visions when he closes his eyes.

His wife.

HIs children.

Burned villages and dead men.

Blood on the streets and stars pinned to chests when they should be in the sky.

He's always been angry but he'd been normal once.

He'd had parents and some vague idea of what his life was supposed to be like.

The streets here are rotten though, the people unfriendly. They don't want to be saved and maybe they shouldn't be.

He'd once tried to be a priest.

Maybe if he'd stayed with it he could have saved someone but it hadn't been in him and he hadn't stayed.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

He unloads half a clip into a rapist and knows why he couldn't be a priest.

There are people that think the death penalty is wrong, people that want due process and a jury made of peers but he's looking at the woman on the ground, eyes wide and shocked, blood that isn't hers splattered across her face and blouse. Those people don't think about her.

She's blinking like she can't make out what she's looking at as she stares at him.

Where there is hatred let me sow love.

Only when he holds out a hand she screams and slaps it away. "Don't touch me!" She shouts, kicking backwards away from the dead body between them. "Don't fucking touch me! Help!"

He let's his hand fall.

Where there is offense, let me bring pardon.

"You should get to a hospital." He say's.

White fingers claw at her face, smearing her would be rapist's blood. "What have you done?" She chokes.

Relieved the streets of one less piece of shit.

"Oh God what have you done?" She has red stains over her face now, across her lips and cheeks.

Where there is discord, let me bring union.

She's in shock.

He doesn't blame her and so he leaves her there, not trying to save anyone. Just trying to make the streets better. Just trying to leave the world a little less shitty than when he came into it.

Where there is error, let me bring truth.

He stops at a pay phone and calls an ambulance.

They'll take care of her.

He hangs up when they ask for his name and walks on.

The rapist wasn't on his agenda but he always has room for one more and tonight he has a meeting.

A mob boss, lower level- ambitious but not important will be celebrating his birthday at a local pizzeria.

It's a front but it makes a good pie.

He might not have given two shits about such a low level but the bastard is ambitious and he has potential in spades. He'll do a lot worse than he already has and he already isn't innocent.

Twenty-three and he's had four men killed.

Where there is doubt, let me bring-

What does a city like this believe in any more? Gleaming glass and steal and dirty pavements. . .

He doesn't pretend he's saving anyone.

This is revenge and that's all it's ever been.

Where there is despair, let me bring-

He can't remember the words. Faith, hope, light, joy. . . he can't remember the words any more. They've fallen behind him like all of the bullet casings he leaves behind. Scattered and lost. Down alleyways and into storm drains and sewers.

Where there is darkness, let me bring -

Let me bring what?

He spots the mob boss from a roof top across the street, from a roof top across the street on his belly through the lens of a two year old scope.

The smug little fucker is laughing with someone.

Four men dead and he's laughing and eating like anyone else.

Where there is sadness-

Frank squeezes the trigger and the man drops, face first onto the table, shot straight through the chest.

The other men shout and Frank can't imagine pardon or understanding for them. Twenty-three years old and he'd made his choice.

He doesn't believe in rehabilitation.

Not in this city.

Not in this life time.

He packs up while they're scurrying around and is gone before they reach his roof. There will be no pardon tonight, not for any of them.

Frank's bones hurt more and more from this, his body doesn't like getting down on the ground any more.

He wonders how many years of this he has left.

How long until his vision and hearing and reflexes go and he's just another face, withered in a nursing home?

The dawn is coming and so he heads home, hearing some song he hasn't in decades and thinking of a time when people pushed flowers down the barrels of guns like it meant something. He knows now why he was never on the side of the flowers. Why he always held the gun.

He's lived long enough to know that he could never be an instrument of peace.

Not him, he never had it in him.

He's an instrument of war and it's too late to turn back now.